The Golden Elixir, Book II
by Runescriptor
Summary: A continuation of Albus' and Snape's adventures in the 19th c. This one is set around the Triwizard tournament.
1. Default Chapter

The Golden Elixir, Book II, Chapter One  
  
Please note the usual disclaimers-nothing belongs to me except the plot line and OCs. The master, JK Rowling, owns Dumbledore and Snape and the whole wonderful idea of Hogwarts. Also, for anyone who has not read book one, this will make very little sense to you. The three books have to be read in order to be understandable.  
  
Albus sat on the edge of the yawning abyss and pondered his options. There did not seem to be many of them. The chasm was too far across for him to even make out the other side, and was so deep that the bottom disappeared into murky mists far below. He had kicked a small stone over the edge several minutes before, when his progress had been halted by the gulf he suddenly found stretching out before him, and had yet to hear it hit bottom. He had then done what seemed the intelligent thing and carefully traced his way along the narrow path skirting the gulf to the left, only to find, after a harrowing few minutes, that it ended in a blank wall that disappeared into darkness above him. He had checked briefly for any signs of a hidden passage in the wall, but soon became convinced that it was just as it appeared-solid and unyielding stone.  
  
He almost lost his footing just then when a large, blue grey creature came screeching at him out of the gloom, looking disturbingly like a prehistoric pterodactyl. Its large, leathery wings beat the air hard enough to create a clammy breeze, its clawed feet reached for him while its open beak showed several rows of jagged teeth. Albus was not inclined to take a closer look, however intriguing he usually found magical creatures, but sent an impediment curse its way and hurried, as much as the path's crumbling condition would allow, back to the cave entrance. He eventually discovered another, much narrower path, if one could even dignify it with such a name, snaking off to the right, but it had also dead-ended. The result was his current position, seated at the edge of the chasm, staring at it reflectively and contemplating dwindling options.  
  
The Triwizard challenge was turning out more impressive than he had imagined. He had not really known what to expect, and indeed, had not even given the tests much thought, with everything else he currently had on his mind. Snape and Delaia were at this very moment attempting to break into Augusta Zaglerin's potion vault and he fervently wished he were with them. Instead, he was forced to participate in this, the first of several trial exercises, to weed the multiple competitors down to three. He had supposed the early trials would be fairly simple, but had quickly discovered that making assumptions about Durmstrang was never a good idea.  
  
He had thought Durmstrang rather unimpressive on first arrival, as the castle itself was less than a third the size of Hogwarts and very plain. Composed mostly of dark grey stone, it was unembellished by crenellations, gargoyles, or, in most cases, windows. There were no gardens surrounding it, just an extensive forest composed primarily of conifers, and a range of craggy, uninviting mountains. His impression of the place had altered considerably on the journey to their assigned rooms, however. The eight Hogwart's students-four champions and their chosen assistants--had been led to a stone tunnel that sloped downward at an alarming angle. They descended what felt to be about a mile into the earth before emerging into a huge underground warren of caverns, connected by what seemed literally hundreds of tunnels. Albus had noticed that all of their party looked as stunned at the sight as he felt, except for one. Snape wore an expression that, if it contained emotion at all, reflected only boredom. He had obviously been here before, or rather, would be here at sometime in the future. Albus made a mental note to have a talk with the mysterious Mr. Snape at the first opportunity to find out what he could, or would, tell them about the place. He still had difficulty believing that the two of them would be allies in the future; he did not trust the man and wondered, not for the first time, why Delaia seemed so sure of him. True, she was always complaining about something he had said or done, but there was an ease to their relationship that Albus secretly envied, and for which he could find no understandable cause.  
  
Once they emerged into Durmstrang proper, they were led through a dizzying array of rooms, all furnished in the same depressing style-heavy, ornately carved furniture in dark wood or stone, tapestries depicting gruesome battle scenes covering the walls in rich colours, and ironwork chandeliers laden with candles that dripped thick, yellowish wax onto the stone floors. Finally, the parade ended at the substantial oak and iron doors that let into the wing reserved for them. Just how far they were underground Albus didn't know, but the very air felt heavy, as if a massive weight was bearing down from above. All in all, he thought Durmstrang lived up to its reputation.  
  
Their rooms were surprisingly comfortable, with plush furniture looking much more comfortable than that in the common rooms, and large fireplaces. The paintings that, for lack of a better word, decorated the walls were truly grotesque, with the most innocuous depicting an animated Saturn devouring his children, but they had been quickly gathered up and deposited in a closet that was securely locked after them. Other than that, the rooms were more than adequate, being considerably larger than the ones they had occupied at Hogwarts. Each of the four sets of students had their own bedroom, and they all shared a large, circular main chamber with attached bath.  
  
Albus and Valentin retired to their room to unpack, which had proved a bit trickier than he had expected. Delaia had been unable to understand why he felt it necessary to bring so much luggage, and had gone on about it at length while they were still at Hogwarts. Albus had ignored her, simply remarking that you could never tell what might be needed later. Once in their room at Durmstrang, however, he began to see her point, especially when his engorgio charm left them trapped under a teetering mound of parcels, bags and heavy trunks. A falling satchel released an enraged Fawkes from his cage by springing open the lock, at which point he began zooming about the room shrieking in a way that only an angry phoenix can. Delaia watched with a resigned expression on her face as one of his heavier trunks teetering on top of the pile fell, squashing her one piece of luggage beneath it. Sosi slithered out of her basket and disappeared under the luggage, planning who knew what revenge. Albus knew his pet well enough to decide to keep out of her way for a day or two. He helped Delaia out from under the table she had used to shield her from falling luggage, and surveyed the ruined room.  
  
"Perhaps we should reshrink some of this, until we decide it's needed . . . "  
  
Delaia shot him a look worthy of Snape, but did not reply. Eventually, the room was made habitable, and she was trying to floo the kitchens for tea when they received the summons to dinner. The main dining hall of Durmstrang was, like most of its frequently used spaces, underground, in a cavern the size of several quidditch fields. The food covering the seven rows of enormous tables was somewhat rich for Albus' taste, coated in heavy sauces or stewed in wine, and half the offerings seemed to be pickled, which he disliked. He was pushing a herring desultorily around his plate, wondering if the dessert course was likely to be any better, when Professor Zaglerin rose to begin the first of what turned out to be a long-winded series of speeches concerning the rules of the upcoming tournament. The gist of it all was that, as the contest was supposed to showcase the skills of the best students at the participating institutions, four champions had been selected from each school. These would all take part in a round of "heats" to dwindle their number to three, at which time the real contest would begin. If all of a school's champions were eliminated in the heats, then that school would not participate in the actual Triwizard event.  
  
Albus felt a small, warm hand on his thigh. "And what do you want to bet all four of Durmstrang's lot make it in?," Delaia whispered, her expression hostile as she glared at the teacher's podium. Albus would have answered her, but the unthinking intimacy of her touch temporarily removed his power of speech.  
  
Snape broke the moment by a caustic comment from across the table. "Of course they'll cheat, so will we if we get the chance. It's tradition."  
  
"Hear , hear!" Zosimus readily agreed, his face shining with anticipation from his seat beside Snape. Albus had not realized until that moment how much the other boy wanted to compete, and presumably to win, the contest. He himself felt no such rush of excitement; he had assumed for so long that he would not have the chance to attend the trials that he had never let himself think much about them. With so much intruding into his thoughts at the moment-what his brother and the elves were planning to do, the prospects of breaking into the private stores of one of the most feared sorceresses in Europe, and the need to insure that none of the Hogwart's champions ended up dead-gave him little time for imagining fame and glory. Zosimus did not seem to find his responsibilities as weighty as Albus did, however, and was almost bouncing in his seat with anticipation to get started.  
  
Delaia leaned over him again as a new speaker took Zaglerin's place on the podium. Her dark curls brushed the side of his face and Albus had to consciously force himself not to react. "We're going to have to do something about them," she commented, and he followed her eyes down the table to where his fellow Hogwarts students sat, their expressions ranging from a fair approximation of Zosimus' excitement--on the face of Lucas Dorien, Ravenclaw's champion-to a frown of worry on that of Hufflepuff's Sophicles Hamlin. The latter boy, with his small frame, cherubic face and thick glasses that constantly threatened to slide off his snub nose, worried Albus the most. He was an exceptional student--indeed, Albus had always wondered why he had not been in Ravenclaw, considering the amount of time he spent in study--but a glance at the Durmstrang champions two tables over made it evident that little Sophicles was in a great deal of trouble. All four of them reminded Albus uncomfortably of Snape at his worst, and they each looked perfectly capable of eating the Hufflepuff for breakfast. He hated the thought of sabotaging his own school, but Delaia was right. Something had to be done, or Hufflepuff might well lose a student permanently.  
  
Albus' train of thought was interrupted by Delaia squeezing his leg and nodding in the direction of the head table, "Look, that must be her!" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wished simultaneously that she would refrain from doing that sort of thing in public, and that she would never stop. Yet another situation he was soon going to have to deal with. What had started out as a flirtation was rapidly progressing to the point that her very presence made conscious thought difficult. He caught Snape's eye across the table and saw with annoyance that the man was smirking at him. Albus resisted the impulse to hex him under the table, and shifted his attention to the front of the room, where he saw what Delaia meant. Augusta Zaglerin had arrived and seated herself by her husband. As some ancient professor from Beauxbatons droned on about sportsmanship, proper conduct and gentlemanly ethics, Albus had plenty of time to size up the extent of their problem. It was, he reflected, hard to imagine the pretty, surprisingly young looking woman clad in a breathtakingly expensive velvet robe, as a dangerous sorceress. The pleasant smile, soft black eyes and shy demeanor did not seem to fit the picture of a raging demoness that Snape had been painting them for the last four days. But then, Albus had had plenty of demonstrations recently that appearances could be deceptive, the dark haired "boy" beside him, whose attention had shifted to the dessert cart, being the most obvious.  
  
Albus helped Delaia consume a huge slice of chocolate cake that was the first truly edible thing he'd found so far. Snape had no desert; he ate very slowly and was still finishing the dish of live baby eels that had been delivered to him earlier. Albus tried not to watch as he sliced another one open and deftly wound it around his fork despite its agonized squirming. Another of the tiny things had fallen from the bowl and was wiggling its way desperately across the table towards Albus when Delaia speared it with her knife and calmly returned it to Severus' plate. Snape shot her a look of thanks as he munched his mouthful of eel, and she gave him a smile in return. Albus felt slightly sick for more than one reason as he glanced between the two of them.  
  
He remembered that look now, as his legs swung over open air at the edge of the abyss. His frustration mounted at being forced to wander around beneath Durmstrang, trying to find the chalice placed somewhere in this confusion of tunnels that would accept only the first eight names put within it, while the real drama took place elsewhere. Snape and Delaia, off together, probably bonding even closer because of their shared danger . . .  
  
Just as his thoughts were turning truly grim, Zosimus interrupted by barreling through the entrance behind him and almost falling headlong to his doom. Albus's tug on the edge of his cloak pulled him back at the last minute.  
  
"Damn!" The blond boy looked down at the gulf a few inches from his highly polished boots. He glanced at Albus, gulped audibly, and muttered a terse "Thanks."  
  
Albus nodded absently. One of the grey creatures, this time with a greenish tinge, made a swooping pass at Zosimus, but he merely gave it an annoyed glance and shot some sparks at it out of his wand. It careened off over the chasm, screeching in pain, and Zosimus seated himself alongside Albus.  
  
"So, what do we have here?"  
  
"That is precisely what I have been trying to determine," Albus commented drily. "What took you so long?"  
  
Zosimus sighed. "Trying to take care of that damned Hufflepuff, as we'd agreed. Did you get the Ravenclaw?"  
  
"Dorien is currently being cared for in the infirmary with a badly twisted ankle. And you?"  
  
Zosimus looked uncomfortable. "I tried, Albus, I truly did, but the boy is damned tricky. You wouldn't think it to look at him, would you?"  
  
Albus turned in disbelief to regard his fellow conspirator. "So where is he?"  
  
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. He got away from me before I could hex him and ran down the corridor. I lost track of him and hoped he'd run into you."  
  
Albus felt a headache coming on. "I haven't seen him." He looked out over the deep gulf at his feet. He had wanted a few more minutes to work up his courage, but could not afford to take them under the circumstances. Sophicles might be being tipped into a gorge at this very moment by Durmstrang's lot; he simply had to be found and eliminated, in a mild sort of way, from competition before their fellow competitors could eliminate him from life. There had been a death in every Triwizard tournament save one for the last hundred years, but this one was going to be another exception if Albus had anything to say about it.  
  
Before Zosimus could do anything to stop him, Albus allowed himself to simply slide off the ledge and into the abyss. He was dimly aware of his companion's horrified screech as he fell through the air, only to land a few seconds later on a bed of feather mattresses on the floor twelve feet or so below his previous position. In front of him, across a floor covered with ancient stalagmites, Albus could see a small door leading out of the room, while above his head the black eddies of the illusion still swirled. He summoned a ladder leaning against the wall a few yards from his position and climbed up, his head breaking through the mist almost at Zosimus' feet. The startled boy squeaked and backed into the cavern wall behind him, his eyes perfect circles of astonishment in his pale face.  
  
"Albus?", he managed to whisper, looking as if he thought he might be talking to a ghost.  
  
"Come on, it's only an illusion," Albus informed him, before sliding back down the ladder himself. Zosimus carefully followed, his feet a bit unsteady on the rungs as he did so. Albus turned, to ask him to hurry, only to be surprised with a stinging slap across the face.  
  
"You absolute bastard!" Zosimus yelled at him, his voice echoing eerily off the cavern walls. "I thought you'd DIED! I almost had heart failure! What the hell did you think you were doing?!"  
  
Albus belatedly realized that he might have mentioned to Zosimus his observation that the bottomless cavern seemed to waver a bit at the edges, if one looked at it long enough. Having just arrived on the scene, Zosimus had not, of course, had the opportunity to detect the effect. Clutching his stinging face with one hand, Albus forced himself to apologise. The pain might have made his words slightly stiffer than they would have been otherwise; in any case, Zosimus did not look all that appeased as they made their way across the cavern to the exit. He was still complaining when, after leaving the illusion room behind them and navigating several connecting passageways, they found the object of their quest. In a small chamber off the main tunnel, Sophicles Hamlin was calmly writing his name on a scrap of parchment, which he then fed to the small chalice on the stone slab before him. He glanced up as the two boys entered the room.  
  
"You'd better hurry and get your names in," he told them matter-of-factly. "If I've counted correctly, there's only two spots left." 


	2. Chapter II

Book II, Chapter II  
  
Delaia was, Snape noted with satisfaction, looking truly appalled. It was the reaction he wanted, the one he needed, if his impetuous young assistant had any chance of staying out of trouble. Unlike had been true at Hogwarts, her ability to cause chaos here could result in much more than a few embarrassments-it could very easily get them both killed. Not, of course, that Severus had any intention of letting things get out of hand, but he knew her, and although he needed help for his plan to work, Delaia's penchant for thoughtless action seriously worried him. She had to fully understand the type of person they were dealing with in order to insure that she did exactly, and only, as he commanded.  
  
"I told you this was not a joke."  
  
"I never thought it was, but I never imagined something like this . . . ," Delaia, seated on a brown velvet hassock near the fire in their empty common room, hugged her knees to her chest as if for comfort. For once, she seemed incapable of giving voice to her thoughts, which suited Severus fine. "You didn't tell this to the others," she finally commented.  
  
Snape wondered how anyone could be that obtuse. "Of course not," he snapped. "The rumours about Augusta are bad enough; the truth is infinitely worse. No one outside the family ever knew what I've just told you. It would not have added much to our reputation."  
  
"God, no," Delaia agreed, still looking shocked. Then, as Snape had feared it would, her expression changed as realization dawned. "But what about Valentin? If the boys just arrived here, maybe we can still save him . . ."  
  
Snape put out a restraining hand and forced her back onto her seat. This was exactly the type of behaviour he needed to suppress. Damn it all, no wonder she had been sorted into Gryffindor! The same blind courage that had killed Potter and too many others for him to count was likely to end with her in Augusta's clutches if she did not learn. Having to be cruel to be kind was nothing new to Severus, and he set out to insure that she understood exactly their position. "Forget Valentin. Didn't you see how Augusta looked at the banquet last night? There's nothing you can do for him-and if you get any other ideas about rescuing one of Augusta's little experiments, remember that the process only takes a few minutes. Stray away from me on some foolish quest and the next time I see you, the only version of Albus you'll be able to attract will be the one in OUR time."  
  
Delaia's eyes narrowed, "Leave Albus out of this."  
  
"Gladly." Snape fervently meant that. "The last thing we need is for our noble prefect to get even a hint of what is going on here. Can you imagine his reaction?"  
  
Delaia looked, if possible, even more horrified than before. "He'd get himself killed," she whispered, her eyes huge. Then, as Snape had expected, she rounded on him. "Damn it, why did you bring us here, anyway?! You KNEW what she was, and yet you dragged us here! Are you completely mad?"  
  
Severus cut her off before the rant could really get going. "It is the only way. The other was even more dangerous-as we don't know who we're dealing with or any of the parameters of the problem. Apollo was almost killed last time; how many more risks would you have him take? At least here, we know what we're up against."  
  
"Yes, the devil incarnate!"  
  
Severus sighed and sat down opposite her. Sometimes he forgot just how young Delaia really was. She was so precocious in some ways, and so very dim in others. Suddenly, he felt about a hundred. It did not escape Severus' notice that he was the only one with much experience in their group. Everyone else, despite their abilities, was far too naïve to understand the undercurrents on which Durmstrang thrived, and in which Augusta had happily swum for almost a century. He didn't want to understand them himself, but he did, all too well. "You can't sum up Augusta that easily; don't try." He much preferred that Delaia did not think about the woman at all, if it could be prevented. Innocence, as he well knew, once lost could never be regained. "Just remember what I've told you, and keep away from her. Stay with me, do precisely as I tell you, and all will be well. We only really need one ingredient; others would be helpful, but I don't plan to risk anything to obtain them. You know what Tizheruk venom looks like; it smells like rotten apples-sweet but with a rancid undertone." Rather like Durmstrang, he thought. "Concentrate on that, and nothing else. Whatever you see or hear, remember-you are after one thing and one thing only."  
  
Delaia nodded. Her face was graver than Snape had ever seen it, and for a moment he regretted again the necessity to involve her. He would have preferred to take care of the matter alone, but the vaults, if he remembered them at all well from his childhood, were extensive, and he could not risk breaking in repeatedly. Getting away with it once was chancy enough. So, he had to have help, and Delaia was the only one who could do it. The only time Augusta was certain to be away from the place was during the Triwizard events, as she sat on the panel of judges. Snape glanced at his chronometer. "They've started. We have to go."  
  
Delaia slowly rose from her chair, quiet but with a determined air. "Right, well let's do it then."  
  
Snape smiled to himself. She was irritating, impetuous and far too naïve for his tastes, but sometimes, she could yet impress.  
  
The trip through the strangely empty corridors of Dumstrang took little time, as Severus used several dimly remembered shortcuts from his youth. They kept to the shadows despite not seeing anyone, but refrained from using a concealment charm. Snape wasn't sure if that sort of thing was monitored or not, and wasn't taking chances. Augusta's vaults sat in splendid isolation, other than for a few largely unused storage rooms, on an even lower level than the one they occupied. The rock took on a darker hue as they descended a narrow, winding tunnel. "God, it even smells like sulpher," he heard Delaia mutter from behind him.  
  
"It's the hot springs; there are quite a few of them throughout these mountains. They occur naturally," Snape replied, and heard her snort of disbelief echo off the tunnel walls ahead. He smiled, a little grimly, remembering that he had had much the same reaction to the place as a child. He had wondered just how far down the caverns at Durmstrang actually went; his father, when he ventured to ask, had merely laughed and replied, "all the way to hell, boy." Severus had eventually concluded that Augusta's chambers were close enough to the netherworld as to make no difference, both in looks and in occupation.  
  
They finally reached the curve in the wall that Severus hoped was the secret entrance he had been through once before. He had always had an uncommonly good memory-it had been one reason for his success in potions, a field requiring mastery of a huge fund of knowledge-but he had tried very hard to forget Durmstrang. Still, he was not surprised to find, when he inserted his hand into a crevice in the rocks, that the old lock appeared under his fingers. Anyone entering Augusta's labs in the normal fashion, from the main door in the corridor several yards away, would see nothing unusual. All her more . . . esoteric . . . experiments, were conducted in her inner sanctum.  
  
Now came the tricky part.  
  
"You had better stand back," he told Delaia curtly, and she obligingly scrambled several yards further into the gloom. Naturally, Severus expected the wards to vary somewhat from those he had seen Augusta disable so long before, but people are creatures of habit, and there was no real threat to her privacy here in the bowels of Durmstrang Institute. Her reputation was as effective a barrier as any number of wards could ever be. So, he had gambled on the security measures she had in place being at least somewhat similar to the ones he remembered noting with the awed eyes of a child. Luckily, the first two he encountered were exactly the same, and therefore easily removed. The next one, however . . .  
  
Severus grimaced as he felt the slight sting of a thought web close around his hands. Damn! He should have expected something of the kind. Withdrawing his arm as quickly as possible from the crevice, making sure not to cut himself and leave any blood behind for Augusta to find and do Merlin only knew what with, he seized Delaia by the shoulders and roughly pushed her up the path in front of them.  
  
"What happened-what's wrong?"  
  
"Just GO!" Snape forced her ahead of him at a pace approaching a dead run, but it was too late. A silver net waved as if in a slight breeze at the mouth of the corridor, blocking their way back to more innocent areas of the complex, and Snape barely managed to catch Delaia before any part of her could touch it and receive serious burns. Pulling her back the way they had come, he retraced their steps to the bend in the corridor, then kept going further down into the nether reaches of the cavern complex which he and his cousins had once explored. The sulphuric lake, with its accompanying wisps of yellow steam, was still where he remembered, rising out of a huge cavern and framed by glistening stalactites suspended from the ceiling like the teeth of some gigantic beast.  
  
The corridor dead-ended in the cave, but Snape pulled Delaia onto a tiny path skirting the water. It was slippery with moisture and sloped dangerously down toward the water's edge, but miraculously, both of them managed to keep their footing. It ended where Snape had known it would, at the entrance to a set of stairs trailing even further downward into the earth. Only the top few received any illumination from the dim light of the cavern; after that, all was darkness. Delaia gave a small sound, something between a squeak and a sob, but followed Severus into the night anyway, clutching his hand as if to a lifeline.  
  
* * *  
  
Apollo regarded the small boy in front of her for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. It really was too funny, that this mousy little thing should have beaten both her and the great Albus to the mark. And a Hufflepuff at that! "My God!," she said aloud, "We'll never live this down, Albus, you know that."  
  
Albus shot her a perturbed glance, but didn't answer. Apollo decided this was just as well, as she was beginning to get over her serious annoyance at his little prank and preferred to stay in good humour, a state that would have been jeopardized by any sarcastic comment from him. Hurrying forward, she wrote her name on one of the small squares of parchment around the cup and dropped it in. "Come, Albus, let's get this chore out of the way."  
  
Apollo kept her tone light, and resolutely refrained from glancing toward the corridor behind her, but she did wish he'd hurry. The rock fall she had arranged for her pursuers had been extensive, but it would hardly hold them forever. One of the reasons she had reacted a bit strongly to Albus' joke-not that he didn't deserve it-had been the very raw state of her nerves. Now that they had determined that Sophicles was alright, she just wanted to get out of here.  
  
Albus dutifully complied, and the chalice glowed brightly one last time before going out. Apollo breathed a sigh of relief. She still had a problem, of course, but at least this meant there was less of a chance of getting waylaid during the course of one of the events. She hustled the boys out the door ahead of her and they started to retrace their steps, when four all too familiar figures blocked the way before them.  
  
Great. Just perfect.  
  
"My dear Apollo, leaving already?" The willowy blond boy in front pointed his huge red-ash wand at her and clucked his tongue.  
  
"My dear Etienne, still using that ridiculous wand, I see. I always wondered if it was to compensate . . . for something else."  
  
That was, of course, all it took. Not, she thought as the curses began flying fast and furious around them, that it would have made any difference what she'd said. The only way for Etienne to stay in the contest now would be to eliminate one of them, and she had no doubts whatsoever which he'd like it to be.  
  
Outnumbered four to three, the Hogwart's trio quickly decided, without the need for verbal comment, to retreat into the chalice room once again. Apollo managed another rock fall to obstruct the doorway, with the only problem being that this also blocked their only way out. A fact that Albus pointed out as soon as the dust settled enough to allow him to speak.  
  
"I didn't notice you coming up with any better suggestions," Apollo replied acerbically.  
  
"Who ARE those people?," Sophicles piped up, looking like an animated statute, covered as he was head to foot in dark grey dust.  
  
Apollo sighed. "The delegation from Beauxbatons, obviously. You saw them at the feast."  
  
"But the one boy--Etienne-he seemed to know you."  
  
Apollo regarded the irritating creature in front of her and wondered if it was too late to hex him. Judging by Albus' expression, she supposed so. "My cousin, Etienne de Montparnasse-charming, isn't he?"  
  
"But what does he want?"  
  
Honestly, Apollo thought, she really was going to hex the creature if he didn't shut up. "Just to kill me, darling," she responded truthfully.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I once asked him too many questions."  
  
"Gentlemen, if I may?" Albus interrupted. "It will take them very little time to find a way through that blockage; might I suggest we use what time we have to decide on a plan of defense?"  
  
"My cousin is a dueling champion, Albus," she smiled as his expression darkened. "Just thought I should mention it."  
  
Sophicles looked seriously worried as he tried vainly to clean his glasses on his filthy shirt. "I was never very good at dueling," he offered unhelpfully.  
  
"No, really?" Apollo kept from rolling her eyes only by a strong force of will. "I'd have never guessed."  
  
Albus intervened again with a question about the abilities of the other three. Apollo considered this, as the rock fall quaked from what she assumed was a blasting spell being applied to the other side. "I don't know one of them, must be from one of the lesser families." She saw Albus' expression and sighed. "I'm not being a snob, Albus, but I recognise everyone from our social set. It isn't as if I don't still see them at holidays and such." She shrugged, "But it doesn't matter anyway, as the other two are Jean-Louis and Tristan de Almarc-the second and third best duelists at the Academy respectively. We are," she summed up, "in a great deal of trouble."  
  
The rocks quivered again as Albus glared at her. "You might have found occasion to mention before that someone was trying to murder you."  
  
Apollo batted her eyelashes at him in what she knew to be a deliberately annoying gesture. "It never came up."  
  
From his expression, she could see that, if they survived this, she was going to have some explaining to do. She could not have cared less about Albus' reaction, but was not at all looking forward to hearing what Severus' was likely to have to say.  
  
Albus turned to regard the trembling rock fall thoughtfully. "Fine, we'll discuss it later."  
  
"Ever the optimist. That's what I love about Gryffindors."  
  
"Apollo . . . "  
  
"Yes, Albus?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
* * *  
  
The darkness was so complete that Delaia gave up and just closed her eyes, to prevent them from straining trying to see something. Severus had ruled out the use of wandlight, as any magic might make it easier for Augusta to trace them. He was not exactly forthcoming with information, but Delaia received the impression that something about that last ward worried him-and if it worried Snape it really concerned her.  
  
The descent down the stairway was harrowing, as it seemed to have no rhyme or reason to its meanderings, and the ancient steps were far from level, but once they reached the bottom it became even worse. Delaia kept a death grip on Severus' hand, finding him far more comforting than she would ever have believed possible. How he was finding his way she had no idea, but his steps seemed reasonably certain, and she followed him blindly across a very broken and uneven floor.  
  
Snape stopped her just as she was about to run headlong into a wall. She guessed, after they remained there for a few moments, that he was running his hands over it, trying to find something, perhaps a latch? She hoped he would do so soon. The stench from the sulphur pool they'd left behind was still strong, although she no longer felt as much urge to gag, and the cold of the lower level they now occupied was chilling her through her damp robes. After what seemed an eternity, Snape gave a satisfied grunt and a dazzling ray of light pierced the darkness of the room as he slowly swung open a heavy door. The hinges screamed as if they had not been used for a century, which, Delaia reflected, might be the case. The door refused to open all the way despite Snape's best efforts, but they managed to squeeze through a very narrow opening into what seemed a intensely bright corridor. Delaia realized that, in fact, it was no better lit than most of Durmstrang, but in comparison to their previous situation, it seemed like heaven.  
  
They ran up the steep incline before them, slipping a little on the slick stones, until they came to a level area at the top with three smaller tunnels branching off from it. Snape hesitated, and Delaia did not need him to tell her that his memory had failed. "It doesn't matter," she reassured him, "anywhere is better than back there."  
  
"Technically, yes," he agreed, "but we can't afford to get lost down here and take hours to find our way out. Augusta isn't stupid-if her wards tell her two people tried to break into her vault and two strangers from Hogwarts suddenly go missing, she will certainly notice. And," he reminded her, "our names can never come up, remember?"  
  
Delaia nodded. It was something she'd had enough lectures on from him before they arrived. Neither she nor Severus could afford to attract any attention while at Durmstrang. As neither of them were Hogwart's champions, there was no reason for anyone to mention their names to Augusta, or to anyone else for that matter. The minute they did, however, they were in serious trouble, as she was certain to wonder why two Hogwart's students had the same names as her new pupil and his brother.  
  
"Ok, so which is it?"  
  
Snape closed his eyes in thought, and Delaia prudently kept quiet, hoping something would trigger his memory, but it was no use. In the end, they just had to choose one, which is how they came to find themselves, half an hour later, practically crawling up a passageway that could not have been meant for human use.  
  
"Dwarfs originally carved out many of these caves, before moving on a millennium ago when all the ore ran out." Snape's reply to her unspoken question did not cheer Delaia very much, as she could only hope that the corridor they'd taken was not going to simply peter out on them, as the last remains of what once had been a vein of some valuable ore. It was with intense relief, then, that she saw a rusty ring of metal imbedded into the rock ahead of them. It took both she and Severus tugging on it, but eventually it turned, and with it the whole face of the rock before them rolled back into the wall. Delaia was so intent on scrambling through the opening as quickly as possible, that she failed to notice the small figure in front of her. It wasn't until it yelped in alarm when she ran into it that she noticed they were not alone. She did not immediately recognise the person she had almost run down, but her eyes had no difficulty identifying the tall figure across the room who was turning to regard her in shock.  
  
"Close your mouth Albus," Apollo said from somewhere to Delaia's left. "You look ridiculous. Can't you see that the cavalry have arrived?" 


	3. Book II, Chapter III

Book II, Chapter III  
  
Delaia stared in surprise at the three boys in front of her, only budging from her place in the tunnel entrance after Severus gave her a less-than- gentle shove in the back. She had no time to ask the obvious question, as, at almost the same instant she stumbled into the cave, a hail of rocks came bouncing across the floor causing her to have to jump behind an outcropping of stone along the wall for protection. "Get ready! They're coming through!" It was Apollo's voice, but Delaia couldn't see him through the cloud of dust that billowed into the room along with the rocks. What she did recognize immediately was the need to get Sophicles, who was still standing in the open, out of the line of fire, as the bright red and gold streaks of a barrage of hexes began landing all around them. He seemed frozen to the spot, oblivious of the fact that he made the perfect target. Before she could decide on a course of action, however, Severus reached out, grabbed the back of the boy's robes and jerked him into the mouth of the tunnel.  
  
"Get him out of here!" She wasn't sure Severus could hear her, with the cacophony going on all around them, but his head whipped in her direction and she gestured back the way they had come. He could not risk performing magic without allowing Augusta to possibly identify him through the thought web, and was therefore only a liability in a fight. Although she had not been caught in the web herself, Delaia would have vastly preferred not to risk magic until Severus could neutralize any possible effects back in their rooms, but she was left with little option. She was too far from the doorway to be certain of making it back, even were she willing to leave Albus and Apollo behind-which she most definitely was not. She could see the indecision on Snape's face for an instant, but whatever else he might be from time to time, he was never slow. He gave her a quick nod, then disappeared, dragging a protesting Hamlin with him.  
  
She sincerely hoped Severus would be able to get Sophicles and himself out of the maze of tunnels before Augusta found them, but Delaia was not at all unhappy to avoid re-entering it herself. Next to meeting up with Severus' demonic aunt, a little thing like a duel seemed almost pleasurable. Dropping to one knee, she peered around the rock that partially shielded her and tried to get orientated. The dust was still thick, but she could make out Apollo nearby, trading hexes furiously with a scowling blond boy who was not holding back in the least. Delaia had no idea why the fight had broken out, but the curse Zosimus' opponent threw just as she poked her head out made her realise that her dear aunt had a serious problem.  
  
"Adfictatio Distorqueo!" For a fraction of a second, Delaia just stared. It wasn't exactly an unforgivable, but it was close, causing extreme pain and a feeling as if one's inner organs were all being twisted in different directions. Prolonged exposure could cause serious injury or even death. Zosimus managed-just-to counter it, but the effort required obviously weakened her. Delaia no longer bothered to think, but entered the melee with relish; if that was how they played it at Durmstrang, fine with her.  
  
"Aculeus Prurio!" She smiled as the blond barely countered the nasty hex she threw that would have left him feeling as if an entire swarm of bees had all decided to sting him at once. As it was, the force behind it caused him to drop to his knees, looking stunned. She would have petrified him then, but as she moved away from the jutting rock to get a better angle, she saw an almost unbelievable sight. Across the room, Albus was fighting THREE opponents--and holding his own.  
  
She had never seen anything like it in her life. This had nothing to do with years of practise with dueling platforms; she had done that, and had studied with others who had spent decades perfecting their art. Her old teacher, Everard de Payens, accounted one of the best duelists in all of Europe, had put on an exhibition for them once with a visiting professor from Hogwarts. She couldn't remember the little man's name, but he had been good, and her professor had simply taken her breath away at the elegance and almost thoughtless ease with which he had countered everything the other threw at him. They had savaged each other for the better part of an hour, before finally calling a draw. She had said to a friend at the time that they should remember that day, because they would likely never see a greater display of skill.  
  
She had been wrong.  
  
Delaia stood with wand lowered and mouth agape as Albus somehow managed to keep up both a difficult shielding charm and to throw a volley of hexes so complex she couldn't even follow them all with her eyes. As she goggled at him, one of his opponents was caught off guard by what must have been a particularly nasty curse and fell over, clutching his side and screaming. With only two adversaries left to worry with, Albus finished the job quickly. A skinny brunette wearing what Delaia suddenly recognized as Beauxbatons colours, was stupefied and dropped like a stone. The last boy, a stocky character who Delaia thought looked slightly familiar-with that nose, he simply had to be a de Almarc--was felled by a Praestigiae Cendere hex--he let go of his wand and began running in a circle, beating himself in the head in an attempt to put out imaginary flames. As Albus' robes settled around him again, swirling in an almost balletic fashion, he once more became the man she knew. His expression, amazingly, had never altered, but was as calm as if nothing particularly unusual had occurred.  
  
Apollo, meanwhile, had finished the blond, petrifying him with a bit more energy than was technically necessary. He fell like a log at Delaia's feet. "Thanks for the help," Apollo commented, having obviously missed Albus' little performance. "Did we get them all?" Delaia nodded numbly; she couldn't have spoken if she'd tried.  
  
Albus, stepping carefully over one of his victims, joined them as the boy who believed himself on fire went screaming from the room and down the corridor. "It will wear off soon," Albus reassured her, apparently mistaking the reason for her dumbfounded expression.  
  
"Who the hell cares?" Apollo remarked, kicking-there was no other word for it-the unconscious figure at her feet until it rolled over. "Dearest cousin Etienne," she mused, a dangerous glint in her cornflower blue eyes, "what shall I do with you?"  
  
"Zosimus . . ." Albus began grimly.  
  
"You don't know this little fils de pute, Albus. If we don't take care of him now, next time-and there will be a next time . . ."  
  
Apollo broke off as several professors dressed in Durmstrang red strode into the room, followed by one in Hogwarts' black. McGonagall looked in disbelief from Apollo, who was still standing menacingly over the unconscious form of Etienne, to Albus and Delaia, who both still had their wands out. One of the Durmstrang professors almost stumbled over the other unconscious boy, who lay near the door where Albus had left him, while his remaining victim took that moment to let out a heartfelt groan. Staggering to his feet, a wiry brunette stumbled over to them and began a torrent of French, most of it obscene, describing a supposed ambush on their group by the Hogwarts' champions. Delaia judged from the bewildered looks everyone else was trading that she and Zosimus were the only ones able to follow his argument, and was about to respond with a few choice phrases of her own when Apollo spoke up.  
  
"What are YOU doing here, anyway? You aren't even one of the champions!" She rounded, livid, on McGonagall and began a furious description of a vicious attack on the Hogwart's trio that Delaia had no doubt was true. Within a few minutes, McGonagall was loudly protesting the ambush of HIS champions by four Beauxbatons' students, one of whom was only supposed to be an assistant and should not have even been at the trials. Etienne, once he had been brought out of his stupor, furiously pointed out that Delaia fit this category, too, and the conversation degenerated even further thereafter, fuelled by the belated arrival of the Beauxbatons' professor, who naturally backed up his students.  
  
Delaia, who could not have cared less if all of them were thrown out of the contest, left Apollo and McGonagall to sort it out, and edged away from the center of the by now screaming mob. Albus somehow ended up by her side. "I thought for a second back there that I saw Snape with you," he commented in a low tone.  
  
"He left with Sophicles." Delaia had little worry of being overheard with the melee going on beside them, but she drew Albus a little way back into the cave anyway. "We ran into a thought web guarding the vaults, or at least Sev did. I don't think it touched me as I was a couple of yards down the corridor, but . . . "  
  
"But he can't do magic without revealing his identity."  
  
"Exactly," Delaia glanced over her shoulder. "Can you stay here and help Apollo? I need to go look for him." It was, in truth, the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn't leave him and Sophicles to face God knew what on their own.  
  
Albus, glancing at Apollo, who was now waving her arms and making extremely rude comments about Etienne's parentage, looked amused. "I think we can leave our defense in Apollo's capable hands. I'll go with you."  
  
Delaia had a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach rather like she'd been hit with one of the more wicked curses that had recently been flying around. Sev's voice rang in her ears, asking again what would happen if Albus ever found out what Augusta's favourite hobby happened to be. She smiled weakly and hoped she didn't look as appalled as she felt. "You're one of the champions-they'll notice if you leave. I'm just going back to our rooms, as they're probably already there and wondering what's keeping us." Please Sev, she thought fervently, please be there.  
  
"But, Delaia, I'm sure Zosimus . . . "  
  
"No, really, you stay here." She hoped her tone sounded appropriately unconcerned. "Sev used to play in these tunnels as a child. He knows them quite well-I'm sure he's fine. If I don't find them at the room, I'll come get you," she lied.  
  
Albus looked like he wanted to argue the point, but Delaia didn't give him a chance. "Professor McGonagall," she called loudly, "Albus says he can clear all this up." She avoided Albus' eyes as McGonagall descended on them, demanding to know his side of things. Delaia took the opportunity to skirt the group in the direction of the door.  
  
"What's going on?" Apollo grabbed her arm as she tried to slip past her.  
  
"Sev and Hamlin-I'm going to go see if they're back at the room."  
  
"Why . . . what's going on? What happened at the vault?," Apollo demanded, dragging her away from the group which had now reformed around Albus and McGonagall. Delaia made a sudden decision, based primarily on her strong desire not to have to do this alone.  
  
"Come with me and I'll explain on the way."  
  
* * *  
  
Albus watched Delaia and Apollo confer briefly about something, then slip unobserved by anyone else from the room. It upset him that Delaia seemed to have no problem accepting help from Zosimus, but was unwilling to do so from him. It made no sense, as, were Sev and Sophicles in trouble, he could not believe Apollo would be better able to help them than he. He did not have time to ponder Delaia's strange behaviour, however, as he was under the necessity of trying to sort out the mess around him. After perhaps twenty minutes, the students had almost shouted themselves hoarse, McGonagall and the Beauxbatons' professor had threatened each other's positions, reputations and lives, and the Durmstrang officials had made it clear that they found the whole affair very funny. They could afford to laugh, Albus thought, considering that Delaia's prophecy of the previous night had been fulfilled and all four of Durmstrang's students had made the first cut. He wondered if they had been given a map of the maze, or if their professors had simply slipped their names into the cup before the test even began. He certainly did not remember seeing any of them in the corridors.  
  
Ultimately, although a decision had yet to be reached when the group decided to adjourn long enough for the battered students to be looked at by the Durmstrang nurse, Albus knew what the outcome would be. McGonagall apparently reached the same conclusion, for he patted Albus' shoulder reassuringly as they made their way back up the corridor towards the upper levels of the Institute. "Don't worry, my boy, don't worry. There's ultimately nothing they can do. Rules are rules, you know, and," he looked at Albus archly, "however your names ended up in that cup, the fact remains that they are there." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "And to think- only ONE Beauxbatons' champion made it past the first cut!"  
  
"But all four of Durmstrang's did," Albus reminded him absently, wondering how to get rid of the man so he could go sort out whatever was wrong with Delaia.  
  
"Yes, they're going to be the problem. We need to get everyone together and plan strategy. I'll . . ."  
  
"Shouldn't you go check on Dorien, sir? I heard he was injured in the course of the trial."  
  
"Yes, yes," McGonagall brushed away Dorien's mishap with a wave of his hand. "Unfortunate, surely, but we still have THREE champions in the running! And we WILL win this, young Dumbledore, I do assure you." He chuckled wickedly, "Did I tell you that I was in the Triwizard Tournament myself as a boy? Did damned well, too, until Durmstrang cheated on the last test and almost got me killed. Oh yes, I have a few plans for the next trial, my boy, don't you worry."  
  
Albus, noting the expression in McGonagall's eyes, decided he probably SHOULD worry, possibly about his teacher's sanity, but he had too much else to deal with right now. He finally managed to persuade the man to go visit Dorien, allowing him to slip away to the Hogwarts' chambers. He met Delaia and Zosimus in the common room, obviously on their way out again.  
  
"They aren't back yet?," he surmised. Delaia and Apollo exchanged a glance that seemed to convey volumes. Albus felt irritated. What the devil was the matter with everyone today? "Well, what's going on?"  
  
Delaia smiled at him, but it was the same sort of expression she'd worn back in the cave-almost a grimace of pain. Albus began to get seriously worried; just then, he saw out of the corner of his eye Apollo go for his wand. What the hell?  
  
He barely had time to react, yelling Expelliarmus just before the damned man could hex him. Apollo's wand leap from his hand and Albus caught it deftly. A slight motion from behind him alerted him to another problem; when he spun around, Delaia was leveling her strange black wand at him, although she looked very unhappy about it. He didn't wait to find out what she thought she was doing.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" The black basalt felt, as always, warm to the touch, as it joined Zosimus' wand in his left hand. Albus backed against the door to the point where he could keep both of his fellow students in sight. He had no idea what was going on in this lunatic asylum, but thought, under the circumstances, that he was justified in feeling a tad paranoid.  
  
"Sorry." Zosimus was, he noted, not talking to him. Delaia shrugged, not taking her eyes off Albus. "You tried, it's alright."  
  
"It is most definitely NOT alright!" Albus was bewildered, but anger and hurt were threatening to take over. "Will someone please explain why you felt it necessary to hex me? I'm on YOUR side, remember?" The two exchanged another meaningful glance. If they do that one more time . . .  
  
"You can't go with us, Albus. I'm sorry," Delaia said, her eyes glistening. He suddenly noticed, a fraction too late, that she held another wand in her hand-one that looked strangely familiar. The three he held were ripped from his grip and went flying across the room to her, just as he registered in shock that the wand she held was his old mahogany. Which, he reminded himself, you gave her you idiot.  
  
"Since when do you carry two wands?," he asked mildly, trying to steady his breathing as she leveled his own at him again.  
  
"Since someone showed me how useful it could be," she almost whispered. "I'm truly sorry, Albus . . . I love you. Stupify!"  
  
"What?!," and all went dark. 


	4. Book II, Chapter IV

Chapter Four  
  
Severus looked around the unfamiliar corridors and suppressed a sigh. Of course. There had only been three possible choices, so naturally he had managed to take both of the wrong ones. Once he had again reached the fork in the path, the left passage had initially seemed somewhat recognizable, but had quickly resolved itself into what proved to be a steady descent. To get back to the student quarters they needed to go up, not down, but after a very brief consideration, he had decided not to attempt to retrace his steps for the third time. His luck could only hold so long; it had appeared marginally safer just to keep going. That had been a half-hour ago, however, and his hope that, eventually, another turning would have to lead upwards, was beginning to fade. Thankfully, the boy at his side had remained, for much of the trip, surprisingly silent; he could not have realised what was happening, but at least he seemed to have enough sense not to jangle Snape's nerves further with useless chatter.  
  
Snape assumed that, whatever the cause of the eruption back in the cave, his fellow conspirators had managed to deal with it. Delaia could be resourceful when she chose, Albus was Albus at any age and Apollo . . . on reflection, Snape decided not to think about Apollo. He desperately wanted to get back to their rooms and find everyone alive and well and waiting impatiently for him, especially the annoying Slytherin, but at the moment that looked less and less likely. He could only hope Delaia would have the sense to remember what he'd told her; if anyone came looking for him or Hamlin, she had to somehow manage to hide the fact that they were missing. Which might prove a bit awkward if they did not find their way out of this infernal maze shortly, as it would be difficult, to say the least, to explain away their absence at dinner.  
  
It was, therefore, with mixed emotions that Snape noticed a large portal appear in front of them as they rounded yet another corner. The walls of the cavern had been getting progressively narrower as they descended; as a result, the massive wooden door almost completely covered the wall in front of them. It was a dead end-they had to turn around now, or go on; there was no more room for the indecision of the last few minutes. Snape cautiously approached the door-anything in Augusta's part of the caverns warranted a good deal of respect-but felt nothing. If there were wards on the thing, they were so subtle they did not . . .  
  
Too late, he realised just what it was that did protect this entrance, as he and Sophicles were caught up in a rush of wind and swirl of light, and catapulted through the suddenly translucent door into the chamber beyond. An entrapment charm, how lovely. To his surprise, however, despite the fact that the door solidified behind them and refused to so much as waver at every spell Sophicles threw at it in the next few minutes, they remained both awake and uninhibited in movement. Apparently, Augusta did not feel that additional measures were necessary to restrain anyone captured by her wards, a fact which led Severus to suspect just how strong they might be.  
  
Turning his attention from the door, he glanced around the room. Behind him, Sophicles was trying yet another version of Alohomora; Snape could have told him it was a waste of time, but at least it kept the boy busy for the present, which postponed his inspection of their surroundings. After a horrified few minutes of poking about on his own, Snape forgot all about Hamlin in the realisation of just what it was that they'd uncovered. This had to be Augusta's "storeroom" for failed experiments.  
  
Every type of nightmare imaginable was displayed behind translucent barriers that ranged in rows disappearing into the distance. My God, the amount of suffering this room contained . . . Snape was regarding in fascinated disgust a particularly strange cross of elf and centaur, which judging by its expression had died in considerable agony, when Sophicles let out a startled scream. Whirling about, Snape was prepared to tell him not to worry, that all these things were quite beyond any further pain no matter what they might look like, when he recognized that it was not the dead displays that had shocked him. Walking in what felt to be slow motion towards a small golden cage attached to the dark grey stone of the wall, Snape knew with mounting dismay just who it was who was staring back at them, his long grey hair falling around his withered face. It took a moment, but Snape finally found his voice. "Valentin?"  
  
* * *  
  
"Very well, where do we find this conasse?" Apollo asked, retrieving her wand from Delaia and stashing it up her sleeve. Her niece was staring in what appeared to be awe at the crumpled form of the boy at her feet. Apollo sighed. Whenever she could spare a minute, she was going to have to do something to get these two together. She had assumed that sharing a room every night would have done the trick by now, but judging by the completely irrational way they were treating each other, apparently a bit more incentive was needed. God knew she had no such trouble; it had been damned difficult behaving herself the previous night with Severus right in the next bed, but contemplating what she had planned for the future had made it at least tolerable. Assuming the man did not succeed in getting himself killed before she had the chance, that was . . . which brought her back to their current problem.  
  
Delaia was still looking down at the peacefully sleeping boy as if she'd just stabbed him through the heart-it was maudlin enough to make Apollo want to retch. "Honestly, Delaia, you just stupefied him. He'll be alright. Can we go deal with this madwoman now?"  
  
Delaia gently replaced Albus' wand in his sleeve and smoothed the fall of auburn hair back from his face with a gentle motion. "Maybe we should put him on the sofa, or in bed. It will look odd if anyone comes in and he's still on the floor."  
  
Apollo agreed and impatiently stood by as Delaia performed the necessary mobilicorpus spell, then pulled the reluctant girl out the door with her. She could moon over Albus later. For right now, they had a witch to deal with-and God help you if you've done anything to Severus, Apollo thought savagely.  
  
"Uh, Apollo?" Delaia was looking at her with a slight frown on her face. "Are you ok?"  
  
"Fine, my dear. Why wouldn't I be? Now, where do we find her?"  
  
As it turned out, no one had seen Augusta since early in the day, and indeed, they garnered a few very surprised looks when they inquired after her. Apparently, even those at Durmstrang did not often seek her out. Finally, they settled on broaching the lion in its den, and Delaia led the way, with extreme reluctance, back to the hidden entrance to the vault.  
  
"Severus countered several wards, but there's a thought web . . . "  
  
"You told me, remember?" Apollo tried to keep her voice level, but her nerves were on edge. It seemed sometimes that they had been nothing else for as long as she could recall. Taking one of the little vials out of her pocket that she had placed there in their short time back at the rooms, she poured it over the lock. Bright violet sparks and a fetid odor that luckily did not last long was followed by a hissing sound.  
  
"What was THAT?" Delaia asked, her voice sounding impressed. Apollo repressed a smile. So typical. Those who did battle only with wands never could understand how much finer, more delicate and, at times, infinitely more dangerous, a simple potion could be. Not that there was anything simple about that one . . .  
  
"Just a little something I whipped up a while back. I think we're through."  
  
It proved to be so, as half the rock face slid back a second later, revealing a large, clinically efficient looking room that was seriously out of place amidst the medieval ambiance of the rest of the castle. Apparently, Augusta didn't desire ancient battle-axes on the walls of her workrooms, not that Apollo could blame her, actually.  
  
It took very little time to determine that the laboratory was empty, at least of dangerous witches. Well, other than me, Apollo thought smugly, as she fingered her remaining vials. Soon, however, she forgot their mission temporarily, caught up in amazed wonder at the riches spread out before her. Like Aladdin's cave, she thought, feeling slightly dizzy. My God, she didn't even know what some of these things were! Making a sack out of the front fold of her robe, she began tipping vials into it, after testing one to make sure that, as she'd supposed, they were spelled to be unbreakable.  
  
"Apollo . . . is this it?" Delaia was holding a small vial of something truly disgusting under her nose; after the instinctive recoil, however, Zosimus smiled. Holding the little thing up to the light, she let it swirl around slightly. The reddish-brown substance within was viscous, but still in liquid form, just as it should be. "Perfect."  
  
"Then let's go. They aren't here."  
  
Delaia was hugging herself and looking about fearfully. Apollo didn't know what was wrong with the girl, but nothing could make her leave before she'd finished exploring these treasures. The amount of time, not to mention expense, that must have gone into collecting some of these ingredients was truly amazing. Row after row of sparkling vials, sitting in tidy formation on metal shelves, filled the large room, and another chamber similarly arrayed was visible through an open door at the far end.  
  
"Apollo!" Delaia was now tugging at her sleeve.  
  
"We can't leave yet, I want to . . . "  
  
Zosimus stopped at the sight of her obviously enraged little niece leveling her thick black wand at her. "We. Are. Going . . . Now."  
  
Apollo nodded and carefully placed the vial in her hand into the bag. "There's no reason to get quite so . . . overwrought, Delaia. Some of these . . . ," she gestured at the rows of potion ingredients, "are absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to get."  
  
"So are replacements for Severus and Sophicles."  
  
Apollo came back to herself with a thud. Damn it all, the girl had a point.  
  
"We have to find them . . . quickly," Delaia continued, lowering her wand as she saw that Apollo had snapped out of her trance, "but if no one's seen Augusta all day, and she isn't here, then just where is she?"  
  
Apollo liberated two more vials from her pocket, her personal concoctions both, and glanced around with real regret. Merlin, this was going to hurt. "I don't know, but I know something that will get her attention, no matter where she is."  
  
Ushering Delaia out the door and back into the corridor, Apollo stopped just long enough to toss the vials into the treasure house behind her, then let the rock facing quickly slide back over the opening. Even through the thick stone, the sound of eruption after eruption could be heard, along with the splintering of supposedly unbreakable vials by the thousands. For an instant, the very ground seemed to tremble under their feet. Apollo felt ill. Such a waste.  
  
Delaia was looking at her, she finally noticed, with horrified eyes. "Well, you wanted her here, didn't you? If that doesn't bring her, I don't know what will."  
  
* * *  
  
Snape regarded the creature-it hardly seemed human-in front of them with a roiling in his stomach. He had, of course, seen some truly appalling sights as a Death Eater, but rarely had anything effected him quite this badly. He wasn't sure if it was because the . . . boy . . . was a relative- his great uncle now that he thought about it-or because of the sheer clinical efficiency with which he had been dealt. The cage was small, but tall enough for him to almost be able to stand as, at twelve years old, he had yet to assume the Snape family height. His prison contained food and water containers, and a few old blankets. Other than that, it was empty. It reminded Severus of nothing so much as the cages for valuable birds at Eeylops' Owl Emporium, where even the most magnificent of creatures was detained in just such a cage. Of course, the owls would eventually be purchased by someone, and then allowed to fly freely much of the time. The boy in front of him might or might not know it, but there was no such freedom planned for him. From his dead-eyed expression, Snape rather thought he knew.  
  
"What . . . who . . . is that?" Snape could barely hear Sophicles' whispered question, so low pitched was his voice. One glance at him was enough to show that Snape was about to have two traumatized children on his hands. He didn't bother to answer, but began looking around instead for a way out. If he had felt frantic before . . .  
  
To his surprise, the boy answered the question himself. "I am Valentin de Plannis. Are you here to get me out?" It did not sound like he thought it likely.  
  
"What are you doing in there?" Sophicles inquired, looking less afraid now that it seemed the creature could talk. He approached the bars of the cage, but stayed well out of arms' reach. Snape could have told him that Valentin was not likely to hurt him; even was he so inclined, it was extremely doubtful that he had enough strength left at this point. He couldn't even begin to imagine why the boy was still alive. From his understanding of the procedure, it took only a few minutes, was irreversible and was always lethal. Yet, however ancient his appearance, Valentin was undoubtedly still living, and since he was being fed, it seemed likely that he was expected to continue to do so for some time. It didn't make sense . . . unless, of course, Augusta had yet to perfect her experiments. Snape mulled that thought over for a few seconds, and decided that he might have hit on the answer. The stories he had heard growing up about Augusta's abilities had, after all, postdated this period by decades. It was probable that her later knowledge had been gained over time, due to trial and error, and at this stage things were still a bit . . .  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable application of an Alohomora spell behind him. Sophicles had had no success with the door to the chamber, but the cage opened for him with ease. Snape continued to ignore the boys while he examined the room. He had no idea if it was possible to replace the life force that had been drained from his young relative or not, but it would be a moot point if they did not get out of this gruesome menagerie before its keeper returned. Severus, deciding that, at this point, his using magic was definitely the lesser of two evils, took out his wand and faced the door. "A blasting spell," he told Sophicles, "the strongest you know."  
  
The boy gulped, but complied. Together, they sent twin bolts of red rushing towards the door, only to have it become transparent again at the last second, allow the bolts through, then reform itself around them. Oh yes, Augusta deserved her reputation, Severus thought in high dudgeon.  
  
Sophicles was regarding the door thoughtfully. "I've never seen one able to do that before," he commented.  
  
Neither had Snape, but he wasn't about to admit it. He stared at the portal in resentment, scenes of other entrapment devices running through his head. The problem was that the Death Eaters had not been a particularly subtle group. Instead of working up devilishly clever charms, if you wanted to hold someone against their will, you simply deprived them of their wand and threw them in a cellar or dungeon, with or without a guard depending on their level of ability. Most of Voldemort's prisoners had not remained alive long enough for anything more elaborate to be necessary. That left him at something of a loss in this case, however.  
  
"So, it becomes permeable whenever it senses a threat?" Sophicles was advancing on the door, a thoughtful expression on his cherubic features.  
  
"Apparently. However, it does not seem to find you very threatening, Hamlin." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think. It was useless; he had simply never encountered anything like this before.  
  
"Well, we could always go out the back." Snape turned to regard the scrawny, filthy creature behind him. Valentin looked like a Halloween scarecrow, but he spoke with the patented Snape family drawl. His expression clearly said, oh great, my rescuers are idiots. 


	5. Book II, Chapter V

Chapter Five  
  
Albus awoke to the disturbing sight of a pair of huge purple eyes inches away from his. He yelled, threw out an arm, knocked whatever it was away, then fell off the bed. Dizzy and disoriented, he sat up to find the room spinning about him and the creature-he now recognized it as a house elf- blinking blearily at him from where it had landed several yards away. He had just started to get his breath back, and to wonder what was going on, when it suddenly sprang to its feet, let out a cry, and hurled something at him. Albus instinctively ducked, thereby just avoiding the large kitchen fork that bounced heavily off the stone wall inches from his right ear. He stared in disbelief at the elf, which shrieked something in some unknown language, then went bouncing out the door. As he lay against the side of the bed, several more house elves, wearing cooking pots on their heads, cheese graters over their chests and waving wicked looking kitchen knives, came running through the room, hot in pursuit of Dorien, who was limping as fast as he could away from them while occasionally shooting spells over his shoulder in their general direction.  
  
That's it, I've gone mad, Albus decided. He should have suspected it before now, what with the way his day had been going, but there was no real doubt left now. Before he had time to ponder the very strange form his madness had taken, McGonagall came scurrying into the room, fell heavily to the floor and rolled under the bed. As he tried to maneuver himself more fully under its trailing coverlet, he came face to face with Albus, who was curiously peering at him from the bed's other side. He gave a screech and whipped out his wand, but stopped himself before he managed to curse his own student.  
  
"Merlin's beard, Albus!," he clutched at his heart as if expecting an incipient attack. "What are you doing, sitting out there in the open? You'll get killed; get under here!"  
  
Albus attempted to point out his concerns that there was hardly room enough under the narrow cot that passed for bedding at Durmstrang for McGonagall's not inconsiderable girth, much less for the two of them, but was dragged underneath before he could voice them.  
  
"They've all gone mad-it's chaos out there," McGonagall was gazing about frenetically, with a wild look in his eyes. "Every house elf in Durmstrang has run amok!"  
  
Several pairs of tiny feet ran through the room then, and a maniacal giggling could be heard. They exited through the far door, however, without noticing the large lump under the bed.  
  
"But why? They were fine this morning." Albus had never heard of house elves rebelling; it went against their whole code of ethics.  
  
McGonagall shifted uncomfortably, causing several books that Albus had left on the end of his cot to hit the floor with loud thumps. His teacher winced. "I didn't plan on this boy, I can tell you-how could I have known that they would sample the brew? It was SUPPOSED to be for Durmstrang's lot alone. They're the only ones who drink that syrupy brown beer anyway; certainly none of our students would touch it. Not," he remarked caustically, "that any of you besides poor Dorien bothered to show up at dinner. Where the hell have you been?"  
  
But Albus was not about to be sidetracked. "You put something in Durmstrang's beer?"  
  
McGonagall looked aggrieved. "I should have known better than to listen to that damned Slytherin!"  
  
"Zosimus gave you something?" Considering the boy's appalling sense of humour, Albus was becoming seriously worried.  
  
"I told him I wanted something that would distract the Durmstrang's champions-you know, rattle them a bit before tomorrow's challenge. He gave me some type of potion earlier today, and told me to slip it into their drinks tonight. So I snuck into the kitchen, opened the beer barrel, and tossed it in."  
  
"But how did the elves . . . "  
  
"How in hell should I know? Probably decided to have a little tipple before serving the meal, or maybe I got the wrong barrel. What difference does it make? The point is, old boy, that there is at present several hundred rabid house elves running about the place, half of them attacking anything that moves and the other half . . .," he shuddered.  
  
"The other half?," Albus prompted, fearing he already knew the answer, considering what Zosimus' potions specialty happened to be.  
  
Before McGonagall could answer, however, a procession of feet passed the open door of the room, carrying something aloft. Albus poked his nose out from under the coverlet long enough to identify Dorien, bound, gagged and looking terrified, being born aloft like a sacrifice headed for an altar somewhere. As there were at least ten elves milling around him, Albus didn't dare interfere, but slipped out from his hiding spot to follow the strange procession to whatever its destination might be. He felt a restraining hand on his ankle, but shook it off.  
  
"Albus-you can't! It's too risky," McGonagall hissed at him from under the bed.  
  
"I'm just going to see where they're taking him." He stooped and peered into the darkness, "Did Apollo tell you what the duration of the effects might be?"  
  
"No, but I just asked for something to distract them for the night; you know, make them unable to get any rest and jangle their nerves a bit. So maybe it won't last long?" He did not sound at all certain and, indeed, probably didn't know. The only way to find out what the effects of the potion were was to locate Apollo and ask him, assuming, Albus thought with memory suddenly flooding back, that he could do so without being hexed into unconsciousness. He instinctively felt for his wand, and thankfully it was where it should be. He briefly wondered if Delaia and Apollo had somehow drunk a little of the brew themselves, but concluded that Zosimus was extremely unlikely to get caught out in such a way, not to mention that they'd hexed him well in advance of dinner. He looked briefly at his pocket chronometer, and noticed that he had been out almost four hours. Wonderful; by now, the two delinquents could be anywhere.  
  
A muffled scream from the direction in which the parade had taken Dorien alerted him to the fact that he had a more pressing problem with which to deal at the moment. Gliding quietly out of the room, he trailed the group, which gradually became larger as they proceeded along the dimly lit corridors, attracting the attention of other elves. Albus felt himself blush more than once as he passed dark corners and shadowed archways, most of which were occupied with writhing groups of house elves doing things which, in a few cases, he hadn't even known were possible. After a few such shocks, he kept his eyes fixed on the group in front of him, who by now were waving torches nicked from wall sconces and singing as they staggered along, Dorien still held aloft, their less than steady footsteps causing him to sway dangerously from side to side.  
  
By the time they reached the dining hall, the parade had grown to at least fifty elves, who staggered with their burden through the main doors and deposited it on a nearby table. Alongside, ranged in squirming rows, were several dozen faculty and students, all trussed up in a similar fashion. A row of house elves along one side of the room began a rhythmic beating on huge soup kettles, which he assumed had been brought up from the kitchens, and several dozen others started dancing among the bodies arrayed along the tables. Casks of wine and beer were passed around, couples began disappearing into the darkened recesses of the tables to do . . . well, whatever it was exactly that house elves did in these cases, and a few more struggling captives were brought in to join the others. From his vantage point behind a heavy tapestry near the door, Albus watched the display with wide eyes, aghast yet fascinated at the same time. Who would have thought the prim and proper house elves could be so . . . Bacchanalian?  
  
Several elves, seated on the teacher's dais, began to speak in ringing tones, although not in a language Albus could understand; the gist of it, however, was quickly apparent by their actions. The head of Durmstrang Institute was hoisted aloft by a number of the small creatures and stood unsteadily on his feet to face judgment from the two elves who seemed to be in command. The whole thing was fast beginning to look like a trial of some sort. Wearing what might have been the remains of a pair of velvet curtains, with a few flowers tucked behind their overlarge ears, they looked down on him from the heights of the table and poured forth a torrent of what could only be accusations. After a few minutes, one of them clicked his long fingers together, and another elf came running up, dragging a huge battle sword behind him. The trial continued, but the outcome had apparently already been decided, as the new arrival began tugging a cut off pair of black hosiery over his head to form a makeshift executioner's mask.  
  
Albus rather panicked at the sight, and gripped his wand harder, although he couldn't think of anything to do against odds of this magnitude. House elves had a powerful magic of their own when they chose to use it, and he had no doubts whatsoever that any attempts to interfere would end with him, trussed like a Christmas goose, laid out on one of the tables awaiting his own trial. The thought did not appeal. On the other hand, he could hardly allow the Durmstrang headmaster to end up sans head, which was definitely the way things were beginning to shape up. Just as he was starting to imagine the headlines-Triwizard Trournament ends in massive slaughter by house elves-and wondering if there could possibly be a more undignified way to go, a small figure appeared at his side. For one glorious moment he thought it was Delaia, who he had been extremely relieved not to recognize among the prisoners, but then he took a closer look. Same height, weight and hair color, but this woman's face was very different, with huge black eyes and features that were so perfect it almost hurt to look at them. With a shock, he recognized Augusta Zaglerin, still wearing a dark green traveling cloak and carrying a small valise.  
  
She stood beside the doorway next to his hiding spot, but did not bother to attempt to conceal herself. Setting the valise on the floor at her feet, she looked around the room, a slight frown of irritation wrinkling her perfect forehead. She shook her head in wonderment, dark hair cascading around her shoulder as she did so. "I leave for one day and the whole place goes to hell." 


	6. Book II, Chapter VI

Chapter Six  
  
Snape staggered along yet another claustrophobic corridor. If he ever got out of this damned placed alive, he would remain above ground for the rest of his life. He'd even consider moving out of his dungeon rooms at Hogwarts, assuming he ever saw the place again. At the moment, he would not give much for his chances-of that or anything else. True, they had found a back route out of their previous imprisonment, but it had soon become apparent that it was a case of making bad matters worse. This was not surprising: Augusta would hardly have warded her rooms so securely then left the back door open; which meant that they were almost certainly headed further into her cavernous chambers instead of out of them.  
  
The narrow passageway gradually widened, before ending in a door that looked like it was made of burnished bronze. There was an odor in the air, but Severus could not immediately identify it. His sensitive nose twitched as they paused before the portal; something was faintly acrid, yet with a myriad of other smells beneath, too many to name. He did not expect the door to be warded, unless it was a way out of the complex, which considering the direction they had been going did not seem likely. Finally deciding that standing around waiting for some miracle to rescue them was not a good use of time, he pushed on the door and almost immediately regretted it. A foul cloud of suffocating smoke ballooned out at them, laced with who knew how many toxic fumes. He dragged the two boys, coughing and cursing, back up the corridor, but before they could re- enter their old prison, he blacked out.  
  
Coming around what felt to be a good while later, Severus gloomily reflected that it seemed he was still alive, and therefore had to deal with this mess. He sighed, groaned, and pulled himself off the floor. His protesting muscles reminded him that he was truly getting too old for this, and that he'd pay for the day's activities for quite awhile to come. A few more minutes and he'd managed to wake the boys up, although neither looked well. Of course, it was a bit difficult to tell with Valentin, whose appearance was already so off-putting as to be impossible to undermine much further, but Sophicles looked positively green. The creatures in cages near the back of Augusta's workroom, some of which were still alive, also looked extremely ill, but Severus wasn't sure if that had to do with the atmosphere or with whatever tortures to which they had been subjected. He momentarily considered releasing them, but there was no way to know if they would judge this a favor or simply use the opportunity to take out their wrath on his little trio. In the end, he left them where they were, deciding that he would come back for them if he ever found a way out of this himself, and if the risk in doing so seemed acceptable. It was not, he knew, a Gryffindor attitude, but thank God there were no pious Gryffindors around to remind him of it. Snape was grateful that the thought of rescuing any of the strange mixed up creatures in the cages did not apparently occur to the little Hufflepuff.  
  
Eventually, with much bullying from Severus and protestations from the boys, he herded them back up the corridor towards the source of their illness. The door was still partly open and the air foul, but it was breathable, especially after they wrapped handkerchiefs around the lower portion of their faces to cut down on the stench. What effects the poisonous atmosphere might eventually have on them was yet to be seen, but staying around Augusta's storeroom, waiting for death or worse, was obviously the greater of two evils.  
  
When they passed through the door, they entered a ruin of a room. Multicoloured puddles of potions pooled all over the floor, some still bubbling or hissing ominously. Cautioning the boys not to step in anything, Severus gazed around in wonder-even Longbottom on his worse day had never wrecked a room this efficiently. Potions dripped off the ceiling and ran down the walls and glass shards, from what he surmised had once been test tubes, lay scattered everywhere and crunched under his boots as he cautiously moved forward. There was not, that he could see, a whole container of anything left in the room and, if possible, the connecting chamber was in even worse condition. Severus had already begun to suspect where they were-it would make sense, after all, for Augusta to link her storeroom with her menagerie, as they both provided her with raw materials, so to speak, for her experiments. But if that was the case, what had happened to it?  
  
Deciding, after a stunned few minutes, that there was no reason to waste time looking for Tihzeruk venom in this mess, as, even were they somehow able to find it, it would almost certainly have been adulterated, he shepherded the two boys across the dangerous floor to what he devoutly hoped was the main entrance. The unwarded door opened for him easily, and he stuck his head out into the corridor, grateful beyond measure to find that it was indeed the one he and Delaia had traversed earlier that day. Emerging from the room, he let the handkerchief across his face fall but, just as he was taking a breath of, relatively, clean air, he was hit with a stunning spell from somewhere back in the dark recesses of the corridor. Of course, he thought as he blacked out, he WOULD get caught with his goal in sight.  
  
* * * Albus slipped between the rows of celebrating elves with a cautious tread. Augusta, who had remained remarkably level-headed in all the confusion, had pulled an invisibility cloak out of her valise and handed it to him a few seconds earlier, with instructions to untie as many prisoners as possible. "I'll get their wands back, then we'll see about reasserting some order around here," she stated, with the air of someone who believed that the pandemonium had been arranged just to annoy her.  
  
"But, without a cloak, how will you . . . ?"  
  
Augusta merely looked amused. "I was carrying that for the use of a little assistant of mine; I haven't needed such things in quite awhile," a fact she proved by promptly disappearing in front of Albus' eyes. He hadn't even heard her utter an incantation.  
  
He threw the cloak over his head and carefully made his way to the nearest table, the increasing level of chaos aiding him in not being perceived, despite the fact that he bumped into several elves and trod heavily on more than one set of toes on the way. He carefully bent over one of the captives, a teacher by the look of him, and explained the situation. He wasn't worried about the man giving the game away. The Durmstrang people had not impressed him as being nervous types, and besides, the man was gagged. By the time Albus worked his hands free, Augusta was by their side with a bunch of wands she'd liberated from somewhere. Handing the man one at random, she gave terse instructions for him to help Albus release the others; he nodded and hurried to obey. They were only able to free about half a dozen before an elf, slightly less drunk than most of the others, spotted them. Pointing a bony finger in their direction, it opened its mouth to warn its fellows, and suddenly disappeared. It did not look to Albus like it left of its own accord, and he assumed Augusta had had something to do with it.  
  
He and Professor Teplouhov, the man he'd released, spent the next few minutes freeing another dozen wizards and one very upset witch. This last was a tiny, bent old woman with a face like a dried fruit, dressed all in black, her white hair flowing almost to the tops of her antiquated boots. She was, Albus guessed from several of her remarks, some type of head housekeeper, and therefore took the elf revolt as a personal affront. She began laying about her with a gnarled old cane as soon as she was free, and despite Albus' appeals that she stay close beside him where he could protect her, took off through the crowd, scattering elves as she went.  
  
After that, of course, it was impossible to hope that the elves would not notice that they had a problem in their midst, and soon Albus forgot about looking for the old woman as he was bombarded by assaults on all sides. Having given his invisibility cloak to an injured Durmstrang student, who could not have protected himself otherwise, he faced a mob of enraged elves with only Teplouhov and a few other unknown professors around him. Within a few minutes, they were fighting back to back, their little circle dwindling in size as the elves closed in. Another professor dropped at his side, hit with some type of elf version of a stupefy charm-at least Albus hoped that was all he'd been hit with-when he suddenly lost his field of vision as some type of cloth was thrown over his head. He quickly realized that Augusta had enveloped him in her shimmering green cloak and, as the elves almost immediately switched their attention to his remaining companions, he had to assume they could no longer see him.  
  
"I think a strategic retreat might be in order," she whispered in his ear, "the odds are too great here to be sure of success."  
  
"But we can't leave; what about the Headmaster?" Albus had lost sight of the man in the melee, but didn't doubt for a moment that he was still in great danger as soon as the elves took care of the present problem.  
  
He felt Augusta shrug, her body pressed closely up against him. "I never liked him anyway," she murmured. "Come, I'll get you out of here."  
  
"No!," Albus couldn't believe she just intended to abandon her colleagues to what had to be almost certain slaughter. "We have to help them." He turned to face her, as difficult as that was to do in the small confines of their covering. "You go for help-see if there's anyone else available to aid us. I'll stay here and do what I can. They've just been drugged-it may wear off soon."  
  
"And if it doesn't?" Her black eyes glittered in the dark. "Would you be willing to sacrifice yourself to help a group of people you don't even know?"  
  
"I have no intention of sacrificing myself," Albus responded, hoping that was true. "But I won't just leave them."  
  
Something flashed in Augusta's eyes for a minute, but was gone before Albus could identify it. She held his gaze for a few seconds, then smiled. It was, he noted with surprise, a rather nice smile. "Then take this," she fished a necklace out of the top of her blouse and threw its silver chain around his neck. She kissed him, quickly, but on the lips. "I'll go find allies. Have fun." Suddenly she was gone, and her cloak with her.  
  
The cloak must have had some type of charm on it to muffle sound, because it seemed to Albus that, as soon as Augusta left, a wave of noise broke over him. He came out of what felt almost like a trance, and began dodging curses again, yet somehow it was a great deal easier than before. Perhaps the elves were losing coordination because of their inebriation, but then, that had not seemed to cause them problems a few minutes earlier. Albus waded into the melee, smiling as he hexed elves out of his way left and right. Augusta was right-this WAS almost fun.  
  
* * *  
  
"It's Severus." Delaia knelt by Snape and rolled him over, noting that Apollo's curse had certainly had the desired effect, for he was out cold. It also looked like his nose had taken the brunt of the fall; that usually protuberant appendage was now angled slightly to the left. Too bad the spell had hit the wrong person.  
  
"Severus!" Looking appalled, Zosimus dropped to the ground on Sev's other side, "Oh my God, what did I do?"  
  
Delaia couldn't resist. "Honestly, Apollo, you just stupefied him. He'll be alright." Her aunt shot her a dirty look, but didn't reply. Just then, Delaia noticed two other forms, peering out of the ruined lab with pale, frightened faces. With difficulty she identified one as Sophicles. To the filth on the boy's robes from the cave incident had been added several more layers of grime and something sticky that made his hair stand on end; when he took off his glasses to peer at her, two marginally cleaner circles around his eyes made him look like an owl she'd once owned. The figure with him looked even worse, being so grimy that Delaia could hardly make him out at all, especially in the corridor's very poor lighting. It was that last problem that had caused them to mistake Severus, muffled up as he was, for Augusta a moment before. That and impatience, Delaia had to admit. They had both been very tired of hanging about a stuffy corridor waiting for the sorceress to return to her lair.  
  
"It's alright, Sophicles," Delaia reassured him. "It's only us. We, er, got a bit confused and hexed Hieronymus. He'll be ok in a minute."  
  
Sophicles nodded dumbly, but said nothing. Neither did the shadow at his side. Delaia returned her attention to Apollo, who was performing an ennervate charm on Severus. He finally came around, but seemed sluggish and out of sorts. Typical. Delaia couldn't imagine what he'd been up to, but it didn't appear that he had run up against Augusta, so she couldn't believe his day had been any worse than hers. "Come on, let's go," she urged. Now that they had the boys back safely, she wanted to get out of there before the lab's proprietress returned.  
  
"He's hurt, can't you see that?" Apollo asked her testily, while trying to wrap a blue silk scarf around one of Sev's hands that had been scraped in his fall. "Did you kill her?," she asked him eagerly.  
  
"If you mean Augusta, we didn't even see her," he responded, confirming Delaia's assumption while endeavouring to stand up. "Would you please stop that?" He brushed off Apollo's attempts to help him with bare civility. Apollo, far from looking offended, slipped a supporting arm around his waist as they finally climbed out of the corridor. "I am perfectly alright, will you unhand me?!" Delaia was so busy paying attention to Sev's little argument with a still smiling Apollo, who suddenly seemed in a much better humour than she'd been all afternoon, that she didn't immediately notice anything wrong.  
  
It wasn't until they entered one of the main halls of the complex and were turning towards the side passageway that led back to their rooms, that she saw it. A group of very strangely attired house elves were standing near several suits of armor a little way up the passage. As they drew slowly nearer, one of them, who seemed to be wearing a funnel on its head for some unknown reason, looked up and saw them; a second later, a mass of screaming elves came running at them, waving torches and small kitchen implements. They glanced at each other briefly, then, as a vase smashed into the wall just over her head, spraying her with fragments of porcelain, Delaia spoke for them all. "Run!"  
  
* * *  
  
Apollo didn't need to be told twice. Hiking up her robes, she sprinted down the corridor, towing a still befuddled Severus with her. She now wished she'd used slightly less energy on that stupefy charm, as she would prefer him more fully awake. Unlike what was probably true of the others, Apollo knew precisely what was wrong with the elves as soon as she saw them. What she couldn't figure out is how they obtained the deinhibitor, and why it had affected them so strongly. It was, after all, a fairly mild solution that should have simply made the Durmstrang champions ignore their instructions to go to bed and get a good night's rest before the next tournament event. Instead, they would have been up, doing whatever they did for fun, and hopefully exhausting themselves. The elves, on the other hand, were acting as if they'd drunk a bucket of undiluted serum each. Damn that stupid Gryffindor-couldn't he even drug someone correctly?  
  
Apollo glanced behind her and noted that the crazed creatures were gaining. Delaia had slowed a couple of them down with a few well-placed impediment charms, but there were just too many to deal with individually. What they needed was to get a counter agent into their bloodstreams, and fast. A moment's reflection decided the issue, and she whispered a plan quickly to Delaia, who nodded her comprehension.  
  
"Go. I'll cover you."  
  
Unwilling to leave Severus behind, especially in his condition and with Delaia having two exhausted boys to see to, Apollo dragged him with her. They ran around a bend in the hallway, then ducked into an empty room as soon as they were out of sight of their attackers. Zosimus could hear Delaia hexing their pursuers as they pounded up the corridor after her; when no one attempted to enter the room, she assumed they were safe. "Circe, that was close!" Zosimus leaned against the door in relief. "I think I might have a way to end all this, but we have to get to the kitchens." Peering out the door, she noted gratefully that the coast seemed to be clear. "You wouldn't happen to know any shortcuts, would you? I'd rather not meet up with any more of those little devils if we can avoid it."  
  
When Severus didn't reply, she turned around, only to find herself slammed against the door, his wand at her throat. "All right," he glared, looking very menacing all of a sudden, "who are you and what did you do with Apollo?" 


	7. Book II, Chapter VII

Chapter Seven  
  
  
  
Zosimus stirred the thick yellowish mixture in the cauldron in front of her and frowned. It was the last of the potions they had decided might be the catalyst necessary to activate Delaia's wand, but it did not look particularly golden to her. Perhaps the color would change as it cooled, or maybe her future self had been feeling particularly poetic the day she made it . . .  
  
She finished the final stir with a flourish and sat down, damp hair falling about her face in a dispirited way, reflective, she thought as she pushed a strand out of her eyes, of her mood. It had been a hellish few days. After a little discussion, the memory of which still made her wince, she had convinced Severus that, despite the fact that she had forgotten to renew the polyjuice in all the excitement, she actually was Apollo. He had been furious, for some reason, to discover her deception, but had eventually agreed that dealing with their current problem was more important than yelling at her.  
  
They found the kitchens, when they finally reached them after a harrowing time dodging elf mobs, deserted and bare, having been stripped of most implements to outfit the makeshift army. They managed to track down one huge caldron that had been left behind, and, with the help of a few terrified house elves who had apparently avoided the drugged beer and whom they found cowering in the corners in fear, located the cellars. After that, it was easy enough to make up a large batch of vodka punch, and to throw in a few additional ingredients from Augusta's storeroom that would hopefully counteract the deinhibitor. They had left it to the sober house elves to take the caldron to the dining room, where they had been informed the majority of the elves had assembled for purposes Zosimus didn't want to know about.  
  
"You're sure this is going to work?" Sev had stared after the tiny group, who were staggering along under the weight of the huge caldron. They had resolutely refused to use a hover charm, apparently having decided to begin their punishment for allowing things to get so out of hand. Indeed, Apollo had had to drag most of them out of the orderly line in which they had been standing, waiting for their turn to shut their ears in the oven door, to get them to transport the mixture.  
  
"One of the side effects of the deinhibitor is extreme thirst. They'll drink it," she assured him, "although whether it will have the desired effect or not . . ."  
  
Apollo took the opportunity of the lull in the day's activities to heal Severus' nose, which she had been dismayed to discover was rather badly broken. She had not realised his injuries were serious, and had decided to see if there was anything else that needed mending when he made it very clear that he wanted no help from her. Deciding to monitor the progress of the potion, and to avoid any more unfortunate scenes with Sev, Apollo crept up to the banqueting chamber a few minutes later, only to find it eerily quiet. Severus, whom she hadn't noticed following her, let out a startled grunt as they looked about. It deserved more than that, she thought, but like him, she had no idea what to say.  
  
The room, large as it was, was completely filled with booty that the elves had apparently stripped from all parts of the castle. Chests of gold and silver, ropes of jewels, casks of every kind of beverage, silk and velvet clothes and knick knacks that some elf or other had apparently admired, laid scattered in piles across the room. Apollo was relieved not to see any of her own robes in the mix, for which she would have considered adding another, much more toxic, potion to their next caldron of punch. In between the booty were the bodies. Apollo quickly determined that they all seemed to be alive, but were also out cold. She wasn't sure why-as far as she knew, nothing in the antidote should have made them sleepy, and the original potion acted as a stimulant, not the reverse, but unconscious they definitely were.  
  
She and Severus had picked their way across the wrecked room, checking bodies as they went. A few elves stirred sluggishly, but none really responded. The humans, on the other hand, were possible to bring around; indeed, most were wide-awake and fuming when they finally got around to liberating them. Those who were not tied and gagged were unconscious, but responded well to ennervate. Thereafter came a period Zosimus fervently hoped she never had to live through again, as she and Sev had had to, in some cases forcibly, restrain the Durmstrang faculty and students from taking their revenge on the peacefully sleeping heaps of elves. It had been a close thing, but they finally managed it. After finding a very competent housekeeper, who promised not to let anyone commit mass elf murder--although, seeing her expression, Apollo feared that the little creatures were in for one hell of a retribution of another kind--she had dragged Severus off to bed.  
  
Their rooms were as trashed as the rest of the castle, but neither cared. Both of them had been so exhausted, they fell asleep without bothering to so much as remove their boots. They were awakened, what felt like only a few hours later, by a frantic Delaia screaming something about Albus. Zosimus had pulled her pillow over her face and hoped it was all a bad dream that would go the hell away and let her get some sleep, but no such luck. She was beginning to believe there was some type of miasma of bad karma that hovered about Durmstrang; certainly, nothing had gone right since they arrived.  
  
"She's got him! Oh wake UP!" Delaia was nothing if not persistent, and impossible to ignore when she was practically screaming in your ear. Apollo gave up and rolled, reluctantly, out of bed.  
  
"What time is it?" Zosimus yawned and instinctively looked for a window to check the sun's position, but of course there were none. Yet another thing she hated about Durmstrang.  
  
"I don't know, what difference does it make? Didn't you HEAR me? She's got him!" Delaia was, Apollo finally noted as consciousness returned, looking utterly frantic. If she'd had any sleep at all, it didn't show, her hair was matted and she had obviously been crying.  
  
"Who has who?" Severus inquired from the other bed, looking almost comically bad. His nose, despite her ministrations of the previous night, was purple with bruising, his face looked about as haggard as she felt and his hair . . . Zosimus honestly had no idea how to describe his hair. She made a mental note to whip up something to deal with it later.  
  
Delaia took a deep breath, steadied herself somewhat, and tried again. "Augusta has Albus. She traded him for Valentin. He wouldn't listen to me . . . I tried to keep him from doing it, but you know how he is . . . I KNEW something like this would happen!"  
  
Apollo and Severus exchanged glances, and it was clear to her that he had no idea how to handle hysterical females. "Order breakfast, assuming there's anyone to bring it," she told him. "I'll . . . do what I can."  
  
Eventually, one bedraggled house elf staggered in-through the door, apparently they still weren't using magic-and deposited a huge and surprisingly tasty breakfast on the table by the fire. Ravenous from her previous day's exertions, and from not having eaten since breakfast the day before, Zosimus tucked in with a will and insisted, between bites, that Delaia do likewise. Severus needed no such urging, and together they put away a gargantuan amount of food. Apollo felt considerably better afterwards, although she still longed for a bath. But first things first.  
  
"Alright," she turned to Delaia, who was looking somewhat better for having eaten. "Tell us." It had taken the better part of an hour, but she had. "So where is Valentin, then?," she asked when Delaia finally finished, feeling too utterly stupefied by the crazy story she had just heard to think of another question.  
  
"In the infirmary. He's alright-when I left, he was sleeping and looking much better."  
  
"So, the reversal was a success?" Snape seemed, Apollo noted, more academically interested than anything else, and although she found the tale fascinating herself in a strange sort of way, clinical detachment was hardly likely to go over well with Delaia at the present. Indeed, if the girl had had more strength, Apollo thought it perfectly possible she would have hexed him then, and not used one of the minor ones.  
  
"Yes, apparently, although what the effect will ultimately be . . . anyway, he's in no danger for the present. So," she looked at them both, "What are we going to do about Albus?"  
  
"Explain this to me again," Snape said, leaning forward in his chair. "Augusta said she would return Valentin's stolen life force to him-what she had left of it, in any case, in exchange for Albus taking his place?" Delaia nodded, unable to speak.  
  
Apollo took pity on her. "Severus, she needs rest. You can't expect her to go into all that again right now."  
  
He ignored her. "This makes no sense," he told Delaia, his voice calm. "Think about it. Why would she want Albus as a substitute for Valentin? She had already performed the procedure on him-and from what I remember hearing, it takes a good deal out of the person doing it. Why go through that again, for no real gain? She had just modified Valentin-his energy would have sustained her for years to come. The substitution is not logical."  
  
Apollo could see that Severus' argument had a good effect on Delaia, presenting her with an intellectual puzzle to take her mind off her emotional state, at least temporarily. She shot him a grateful glance, but he was concentrating on the girl in front of him. "Think, Delaia, there must be something else. Did she say anything, do anything, at all in addition to what you've told us?"  
  
Delaia thought, and Apollo could tell she was putting effort into it. "We ran into the hall . . . like I told you, it was chaos . . . a battlefield, with hexes flying everywhere . . . I saw Albus, and it was strange, almost like he was glowing, and he was doing things that should not have been possible. I saw him absorb several hexes as if he didn't even feel them, and he kept becoming invisible when too hard pressed by a group of elves, then reappearing behind them and stupefying them all. I couldn't believe it, but I didn't have time to find out what was happening, as I had to defend myself and Valentin, who didn't have a wand."  
  
"Right, and then you said Augusta appeared by your side and tried to reclaim Valentin."  
  
Delaia nodded. "I can't remember her exact words to him, but it was something like, 'I should have known, wherever there's trouble, I can always look for you.' Anyway, she grabbed his arm, I grabbed the other one, and we did this ridiculous tug of war in the middle of everything . . . I didn't recognize Augusta until Valentin started screaming at her . . . anyway, Albus must have seen us, because all of a sudden, he was there, and that's when . . ."  
  
"Right," Severus nodded, taking her hands and coaxing her to continue. "That is when she offered Albus the bargain."  
  
"And he AGREED!"  
  
"Yes, I know." Severus was obviously trying to be patient, although Apollo could see that it was not his strong suit. She was becoming interested in his line of thought, herself, however, and wished Delaia would pull herself together. They needed information if they were going to get Albus out of this. "What, EXACTLY, happened then?"  
  
Delaia closed her eyes, apparently trying to force it to all come back. "Augusta said, 'you can't expect me to give up my prize for nothing, can you? I bought and paid for him, in a sense-so, what will you give in exchange?' And that's when Albus offered to take his place. And I didn't say anything . . . I couldn't-I was so . . . "  
  
"Yes, but what did Augusta do? You said she actually took the necklace from Albus, and put it on Valentin?"  
  
"She . . . she laughed, and let go of Valentin so fast he fell against me, almost knocking me down. Then she tossed him the necklace and said, 'I think I have the better of the bargain.' Then she and Albus just . . . disappeared." Delaia looked up at Severus pleadingly. "I didn't know what to do, everything was chaos all around and it was all the three of us could manage not to get hexed out of existence. I couldn't follow them, as I didn't even know where they'd gone . . . I STILL don't, for that matter. I went back to her vault afterwards, but she wasn't there. Then I looked in her rooms, and then just everywhere I could think of . . . Where could they be?"  
  
Severus just shrugged, "There are any number of possibilities, but don't worry, Delaia, we'll find them. And don't be too concerned about Albus. If I'm correct, Augusta has no plans for him to replace Valentin-that isn't what she needs him for."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"I could be wrong, as I am going on family stories half remembered from childhood, about things that took place long after this."  
  
Delaia looked murderous. "Snape, if you know something and don't tell me right now . . . "  
  
Severus held up his hands defensively. "That is what I'm trying to do. As I said, it makes no sense for Augusta to merely exchange one wizard for another, not if his life-force is all she wants. True, Albus is powerful, and the more powerful the . . . donor, for lack of a better word, the longer the effect lasts, but the difference would not be THAT significant. And Augusta is hardly the type to go to any additional trouble unless she sees significant gain for herself. So, I don't think she has marked Albus as her next victim. I doubt she has two of those little relics, and if Valentin is currently wearing it . . . "  
  
Apollo spoke up, "But maybe there's another way of, well, siphoning someone's power, than using the relic."  
  
Severus shrugged. "If so, I never heard of it. And, to my knowledge, she never took it off, not under any circumstances. So, if she's suddenly become so careless of it now, it must be because she thinks she has a better solution."  
  
Apollo toyed with another pastry and mused aloud. "But what else is there? Besides the talisman, what could she possibly expect to get, and from Albus of all people, to allow her to live forever?"  
  
Delaia's head snapped up at that, and she looked at Severus in dawning realisation. "You think . . . the Philosopher's Stone?"  
  
Severus smiled. "It's good to see your ordeal hasn't entirely removed your powers of thought. It is what Augusta spent her life pursuing, but, in our time, never found. The Philosopher's Stone takes more than talent to create-there has to be a certain . . . purity of heart . . . in the maker as well. That," he admitted, "is why the family was willing to give her Valentin in exchange for her agreeing to take Hieronymus as her pupil. She thought that perhaps my grandfather might have both qualities, thus allowing her to create the Stone, and she promised that the elixir of life it produced would then be shared with our family. But, as I recall, grandfather was not as . . . pure . . . as she'd hoped, and although an apt pupil in the dark arts, he came no closer to creating the Stone than she did."  
  
"But now she has Albus . . ."  
  
"Who just might be the one she's been looking for," Severus finished the thought for her. "Making our task fairly clear, if far from easy. First, find them. Second, destroy the Stone, if they have had a chance to make one. Third, get out of here before we interfere any more with history than we have already done."  
  
Which explained Apollo's hellish last few days, as she slaved over hot cauldrons in their rooms, making the final two potions on their list. Having had plenty of time to think as she did so, Apollo had realised something rather appalling that had apparently not yet occurred to Severus or, thankfully, to Delaia. She, of course, had every intention of going to the future with Severus. He might be treating her like a pariah at the moment, although why she still didn't know, but she was confident that, in time, she'd bring him around. But even if not, the thought of it-being able to study and work openly, under her own name, with no more need of polyjuice or hiding behind a façade, and having the same rights as anyone else . . . well, it sounded like heaven to her. Delaia's description of her isolated life in France did not give Apollo any reason to look forward to the future in her own time. And, having progressed along that far in her ruminations, she had seen with joy that there was no reason she couldn't go back with them. She was, after all, dead in their time period. No one, it was rumoured, could exist twice at the same time. The deadly paradox-for both versions of the person-that this caused was one reason for the heavy restrictions on any form of time-travel. But as she no longer existed in that era, she could travel there with no paradox being created.  
  
It was while she was contemplating this glorious epiphany that the thought struck her. Yes, Delaia and Severus might well be able to retrieve Albus from Augusta's clutches, and indeed, she sincerely hoped they would, but even if so, it would do little good. Albus Dumbledore still lived in their time. Meaning, she had suddenly seen with perfect clarity, that he could not go back with them, or both Albuses would cease to exist. It was a fact she had not yet mentioned to Delaia, who looked dismal enough when she and Severus returned from their regular searches of the castle, all of which had so far been unsuccessful. Indeed, Apollo had no idea how to even begin to bring it up.  
  
Zosimus stood and moved back to the cauldron to see how its contents were doing. Picking up a sample in a large ladle, she let it pour slowly back into the receptacle. In the candlelight from a nearby sconce, the honey- thick mixture turned from a dull mustard-brown into shimmering, liquid gold. Apollo smiled grimly. Unless she was very much mistaken, they now possessed the Golden Elixir.  
  
A huge thank-you to those who are following this story and have reviewed. I still can't believe my little hobby is fun for anyone but me, but I'm glad if you're enjoying it. In response to a few questions/comments I've received lately:  
  
To Lady Rhiyana-great Chicken Run reference (I love that movie, too). I don't think I was consciously thinking about it when I wrote that chapter, it was simply necessary for plot development, but subconsciously, who knows?  
  
To Zardiphillian Beryllix-Thank you for sticking with this so far. In response to your question about Albus and Delaia, I've finally worked out the ending to book three and all I can say is that I honestly don't think it's ever been done-in FF or out of it. Let me know if I manage to surprise you.  
  
To Alia-Don't you know, omni vincit amour? Have faith! 


	8. Book II, Chapter VIII

Chapter Eight  
  
The sun shone through beautiful stained glass panes depicting a silver unicorn with two golden foals at its side, all nestled in lush greenery. At the corner of the panels were beautifully rendered flowers in delicate pinks, sapphires and corals. They flooded the already attractive tower rooms with bright colour, staining the grey stone a palette of bright shades. Pleasantly faded antique carpets covered the floor, except in the work area of course, in more muted tones, utilising patterns Albus had not seen before. The rest of Augusta's work room was more typical, consisting of scarred oak tables covered with bottles, vials and heaps of parchment scrolls, while no less than six cauldrons were scattered around the large round room, including the gold one with which he was currently working. The chamber allotted to him was up a circular stone staircase near the door and was just as beautifully decorated.  
  
Albus had been surprised to find such a lovely set of rooms in Durmstrang, as they were so different from what he had come to expect. But then, he had not previously seen much of the castle itself, having spent most of his time in the cavern complex below. Still, in their hurried rush here the night before, he had received the impression that much of the rest of it was similar in design to the caverns; indeed, the bottom floors of the tower had seemed almost derelict, hung with cobwebs and covered in dust. Yet his current surroundings could not have been more pleasant; he even though he occasionally smelled a hint of honeysuckle on the breeze wafting in from the one window he had left open. He hadn't known honeysuckle even grew this far north . . .  
  
"So, you have everything then?" Augusta bustled up behind him, her peacock blue satin robes rustling as they swept over the plush carpets.  
  
"I believe so, but I've never seen a potion so complex before." Albus looked back down at the thick scroll he had been perusing. There had to be twenty feet of instructions, all written in faded emerald ink.  
  
"You'll be fine, Albus, I have every faith in you. And it would hardly be a challenge if we made it too easy, would it?" She smiled brilliantly at him before disappearing in that disconcerting way she had. He sighed and decided not to look at the number of steps on the list-it depressed him as he was currently only on number four. Still, as difficult as the task might be, it would be worth it should he succeed. Yes, indeed, he thought, pulling on thick dragon hide gloves, the Triwizard Tournament was turning out to be much more of a challenge than he had anticipated.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape turned in front of the mirror, trying to accustom himself to the new body he was currently inhabiting. Apollo watched, with ill-concealed amusement, from his--no, her, Snape reminded himself, suppressing a wince-- position on a fat, velvet-covered chair near the bed. She grinned at him, her blue eyes dancing with merriment. "Don't worry--You'll fool everyone, I assure you. After all, I have considerable experience with this sort of thing." Snape glared at her reflection in the mirror but did not reply.  
  
"Here," she moved up behind him and tucked a small flask into a pocket of his robes. He could smell whatever floral based shampoo she used, and feel her warmth briefly before she stepped away. "Just remember, every hour on the hour."  
  
"I'm hardly likely to forget," he snapped, but the voice he was currently using failed to give the comment the patented Snape bite. No wonder Albus always sounded so damned pleasant--it was genetic.  
  
"You don't know what we'll be facing," she commented, looking unconcerned, "and it IS easy to forget sometimes . . . even for me." She dimpled at him in that completely infuriating manner of hers. One of the most irritating facts about Apollo, out of a long list to which he added daily, was her complete disregard for his moods. She persisted in acting as if her little charade with the polyjuice was nothing more than a huge joke, with which he should be equally amused. Snape felt many things, too many to list even to himself, but amusement was nowhere among them. He decided again to refrain from comment, as his self-control had taken too many beatings lately to insure that a shouting match with the absurd creature behind him would not turn into . . . something else. He returned to his previous employment of trying to make the cursed robes he was wearing lay properly, but they refused to cooperate. He had just realised why when the door into his room crashed open and Delaia burst in with her usual lack of grace.  
  
"Apollo, I just ran into McGonagall and he said . . . ," she stopped in mid- sentence, her expression changing from irritation to disbelief to joy in rapid succession. Before Snape could say anything, she launched herself at him, causing them both to fall to the floor in an inelegant heap. "ALBUS!" She was, Snape realised with horror, somehow managing to kiss him all over the face and cry at the same time. "I thought . . . I didn't know where to find you! . . . I can't believe . . . where WERE you! . . . Oh God, you're all right . . . I was so . . . she didn't hurt you, did she? . . . ," when the crazed girl began scrabbling at his robes, trying, he supposed, to discover any injuries, he quickly decided that he'd had enough. Before he could throw her off, however, she was grabbed from behind by a far from pleased looking Apollo.  
  
"If you don't mind, dear," Apollo hissed, "this one's mine, I believe?"  
  
Snape decided to ignore that particular comment, and covered his confusion by scrambling up from the floor and onto Apollo's vacated chair.  
  
"Don't be stupid, Apollo, it's Albus!"  
  
"Hardly," Apollo plunked her dazed relative onto a hassock and glared down at her. "THAT, dear girl, is Severus. I gave him polyjuice a few minutes ago to see if he could pass as Albus . . .," she suddenly looked amused again. "Apparently, there's no doubt there."  
  
"But why?" Delaia glanced over at him as if she still didn't believe it, and tears began welling up in her eyes once more.  
  
Oh God, Severus thought in disgust. What love did to some people--it was worse than a disease. "We were informed that the demented fools running this institution have decided to go ahead with the Tournament despite everything," he began, only to break off abruptly as he discovered yet another hidden pocket. After pulling out the curious item it contained and failing to identify it, he threw it on the growing pile of mysterious objects at his feet.  
  
Apollo took up the tale. "So, we need an Albus, and since we haven't yet located the real thing, Sev has gallantly offered to take his place in tomorrow's events."  
  
Delaia, performing one of her usual quick mood changes, looked between the two of them in mounting anger. "You mean you're actually going to waste time on that . . that nonsense when Albus could be . . . be . . . ," she obviously did not want to contemplate what might be happening to him at the moment, and Severus secretly did not blame her. He was ALMOST certain Augusta wanted Albus for the reasons he had previously stated, but then, Augusta had never been particularly predictable.  
  
"And what the hell are you doing?," Delaia demanded, fury giving her face an unattractive mottled tone.  
  
"Attempting to discern what arsenal Albus has secreted in his spare robes," Severus replied tetchily. He wondered, as his hands found another pocket, how one robe could possibly contain that many compartments; it must have been magically altered somehow. Delaia returned to arguing with Apollo, allowing him to finish cleaning out his apparel. The pile of found objects on the floor had grown to an unbelievable size by the time he finished several minutes later.  
  
Delaia was sitting on the floor at Apollo's feet, looking up at her petulantly. "I still think it's stupid," she remarked.  
  
"Stupid or not, it's the only way to proceed. We can't very well have Albus just disappear halfway through the Tournament. How would we explain his absence, or his reappearance later on when you find him?"  
  
"I don't see why WE have to explain anything. Let Augusta explain what she's done with him!"  
  
"Oh, yes," Severus looked up from rooting through the stack on the floor to regard her sardonically. "We'll just accuse the wife of one of Durmstrang's senior professors of kidnapping one of our students and demand that she return him. I'm sure that will be VERY well received."  
  
"Well, why not?," Delaia rose to begin pacing agitatedly around the room. "Everyone around here acts like she's untouchable--why not make her answer some difficult questions--she could hardly hex all of us, and in front of the whole school, too!"  
  
"She doesn't have to hex us," Severus pointed out, trying to remain calm. God, between the two of them he WAS going to lose his mind, if he hadn't already. "All she has to do is deny everything. We have no proof, other than your word, that Augusta has done anything with Albus. Besides, she hasn't lived here for decades without making strong allies. If we try to interfere, at least in so obvious a fashion, with her plans, she most certainly will make us regret it. And," he continued, forestalling more objections, "she DOES have Albus. She could easily inflict any number of very nasty revenges on him for any action we take."  
  
Delaia looked somewhat subdued by this, but was apparently not ready to give up yet. "But, if you and Apollo and Sophicles are off at the Tournament all day, who is going to help me find Albus? I can't search this whole place by myself!"  
  
"Take Valentin with you," Apollo suggested. "He surely must know the place by now, and he might like an opportunity to cause Augusta a bit of annoyance. I would, in his position."  
  
"He's still in the infirmary. I need to go visit him . . . I haven't been in several days . . ."  
  
"Well I have, and he is doing fine," Apollo assured her, "although it IS rather disconcerting to see a twelve year old with grey hair."  
  
"But," Delaia looked confused, "I thought the talisman would take care of that."  
  
"Apparently not. It DOES return the remainder of his life-force to him, but not that which was already consumed. And it seems, from what he told me, that Augusta uses her subjects up rather quickly. Returning her to youth and beauty is only one of the uses of the talisman. It also apparently allows her to draw on a wizard's, or witch's, power to enhance her own abilities. If she only used it to recapture her youth, one subject would last for decades, but the more . . . extra power she draws from it, the faster they are used up. And she pulled pretty heavily on Valentin's energy while she had him."  
  
Delaia looked appalled. "But, you mean, he'll never regain what she stole?"  
  
Apollo sighed. Snape was glad she had decided to explain matters to her niece, as he certainly did not feel like going into it again. Their talk with an eerily calm Valentin the previous day had been disturbing. The boy had calmly calculated that he had, perhaps, half his life-force left. "Although," he had remarked coolly, "it may be less than that, as I have no real way of calculating except her comment that, in a few more months, another subject would be necessary."  
  
"But, what could she possibly be using that much power for?," Apollo had asked him as they gratefully escaped from the boy's bedside some minutes later. Snape had had no answer for her then, nor did he now. It was, however, the issue that haunted him, especially where Albus was concerned. Once he finished making the stone, or failed to do so, he would be no more use to Augusta except as another in her chain of human batteries. For, Snape thought grimly, the elixir of life would only give her immortality-- it could not increase her powers as the talisman did. It seemed probable that the only reason she wanted it was to allow her to use her subject's life-force entirely for the purpose of increasing her abilities, as much of their energy must be wasted at present in just preserving and extending her life. Yes, in all, he had to agree with Delaia. They needed to find Albus, and quickly, but they also had to maintain their cover story at the same time.  
  
"What is all that?," Apollo was kneeling in front of him, examining the pile of items from Albus' robes. She was not currently using polyjuice, as they were alone in their rooms, Dorien still being in the infirmary recuperating from the shock associated with whatever the elves had done to him--Severus had carefully refrained from asking exactly what that had been- -and Sophicles was in the library. He had spent most of his days and part of his nights there recently. Snape did not know if that was normal for the boy or not, but frankly didn't care as long as it kept him safely out of the way. Both boys' assistants had left for Hogwarts the day before, Dorien's loudly proclaiming that Durmstrang was filled with lunatics and he never wanted to see the place again as long as he lived, a sentiment Snape was sure his fellow Ravenclaw would echo as soon as he was well enough to do so. Sophicles had, oddly enough, insisted that his own helper also return to Britain even though he remained in the contest. The lanky Hufflepuff who had accompanied him to the tournament had eventually agreed; Snape thought the boy's protestations had been somewhat forced, and that he was secretly glad to be out of the "lunatic asylum" himself.  
  
In any case, their largely deserted rooms meant that Apollo did not bother to use the ployjuice disguise very often, usually only for the dinners that had resumed in the Great Hall despite most people's obvious reluctance to return there. He assumed the rather scary small woman who oversaw the housekeeping affairs had insisted. He had seen her standing grimly near the door to the cavernous room the night before, grimly surveying the exhausted house elves who staggered about with laden platters.  
  
Severus did not blame Apollo for avoiding the potion as much as she could-- it was, after all, hardly a pleasant sensation, even for one as accustomed to it as she must be by now--but it did present him with frequent disturbing pictures, such as the tableau currently in front of him. Amber velvet robes, heavy with gold embroidery, pooled around the girl's elegant figure as she knelt, sorting through the heap of curiosities with a lazy grace. Her heavy fair hair--really, she did have an absurd amount of it, Severus thought absently--was held back from her face with golden cords, but masses of curls spilled down her back in careless profusion. Completing the disturbing picture were aquamarine eyes half hidden by ridiculously long lashes, alabaster skin, pink cheeks with DIMPLES for God's sake . . . Severus really wished he could think of a good, or just a plausible, reason to insist she take the damned polyjuice . . .  
  
"Severus?" Apollo was looking up at him quizzically, holding some object in her hand. He had the feeling he'd been asked a question, but had no idea what it was. Delaia, unusually for her, came to his rescue.  
  
"I know!," the girl snatched it eagerly from Apollo's hand. "It's a pensieve crystal. I used to have one of these."  
  
"What does it do?" Apollo had, thankfully, shifted her attention away from Severus momentarily, allowing him a few minutes to regain some semblance of composure.  
  
"It acts something like a computer note pad does for muggles." Apollo, not surprisingly, looked no less puzzled. Delaia saw her expression and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I keep forgetting what year it is. Anyway, you can use it like a regular pensieve, only it won't hold as many memories. It's meant to remind you of important things you need to do. I had to use one at school--I was involved with so many things my last year, there was no other way to keep up with them all."  
  
"Well, let's see it then," Apollo took the small item back and held it up to the candlelight. "How do you activate it?"  
  
Delaia snatched it back with what Severus thought was unnecessary force. "I don't think we should be going through Albus' personal effect like that," she responded haughtily, and fortunately for her, Apollo let it drop as her attention was distracted by another curiosity in the pile. Severus, who had remained alive this long by honing his naturally good observation skills to a fine point, noticed when Delaia surreptitiously dropped the object in a pocket of her robes. He prudently said nothing, however. Even when she made a childishly transparent excuse and withdrew from the room a few minutes later, he kept quiet, just watched her retreating form with an emotion approaching pity. It had been so long since he had indulged in any such feeling, that it took him a few seconds to realise what it was. It wasn't until he noticed that Apollo was also regarding the retreating figure with her blue eyes suspiciously bright that he managed to put a name on it.  
  
"That's only going to make things harder," she murmured.  
  
* * *  
  
Delaia somehow managed to make it back to her and Albus' room without running into anything. Hands trembling, she took out the dark purple crystal and sat it on the table beside her bed. It balanced there perfectly on its tiny point, held up by a magical field. Its colour had told her at once that it was pretty close to being full--empty crystals were clear. She hesitated, wand in hand, not knowing if she really wanted to do this or not. Technically, she hadn't lied to Apollo--the crystals WERE used as memory aids at times, but that was not their primary function. Most people employed them as a way of preserving particularly precious memories that they wanted to carry along--rather in the matter of a portable photo album.  
  
Delaia was rather afraid to see if she figured anywhere in Albus' list of important memories. If she did it would be hard; if she didn't . . . well, she wasn't sure if that would be better or worse, under the circumstances. Still, there was no way she was not going to look, regardless of how inappropriate it might be. Stamping down a flood of guilt, Delaia raised her wand and spoke the simple command to display the memories.  
  
The room around her faded to black, then reformed into an entirely different scene. It was still dark, wherever she was, but her eyes soon adjusted, showing the room at Hogwarts she shared with Albus. Dim wandlight illuminated a form sleeping in front of her. After a moment of disorientation, Delaia recognised with a jolt that she was looking down on herself. Of course, she was seeing things through Albus' memory, wasn't she? Still, she couldn't think what was so important about remembering that. She was just glad she wasn't sprawled in some embarrassing position, but was simply sleeping, one hand trapped under her face and the other tangled in the bedclothes. She had barely time to notice that her hair looked a mess, cascading every which way over the white pillow in long black ribbons, when the scene changed.  
  
Delaia sat in increasing awe as image after image flashed in front of her eyes: her astonished expression at the welcoming feast; her delighted face as she hexed Geoffrey and company on the Hogwart's stairs; her frown of irritation as she dropped her disguise in the gardens; her sleeping form in Apollo's rooms, face flushed from too much brandy; the kisses they shared in the Forbidden Forest; her guilty look as she tried to hide Apollo from him in the Hogwart's infirmary--God, I can't lie at all, can I, she thought bemusedly; the slow realisation that had crept across her features at the Triwizard selection as she worked out that Albus had no intention of going; her laughter that day by the lake, as he told her about Aberforth; her resigned expression as parcels and baggage rained down on her during their attempt to unpack on the first day at Durmstrang . . . it took her frozen brain a few moments to register the fact that they were all about her.  
  
The crystal cycled through its entire repertoire and began again, but Delaia wasn't watching. She had her answer now--and it was definitely worse to know, she decided, before dissolving into helpless tears.  
  
Sorry to everyone following this story for taking so long to post this chapter--life in the form of mid-terms intervened! 


	9. Book II, Chapter IX

Golden Elixir II, Chapter Nine  
  
  
  
Apollo looked around the large open plain yet again, her eyes searching among the fluttering crimson streamers and multicoloured school banners, but not finding what she sought. Her task was not helped by the fact that so many people had crowded the field that day, many of whom were not in Durmstrang colours and, at any rate, were far too old to be students. This particular trial had drawn quite an audience, for some reason. Along with the spectators, most of Durmstrang's student body was seated in stands arrayed alongside one wall of the castle, loudly cheering their champions who were parading around as if they had already won the trial. The judges had taken their places several minutes before on a small, red draped dais alongside them, while the sole remaining Beauxbatons' champion stood a little way off from she and Sev, trying not to shiver in the chill wind that swept through gaps in the forest.  
  
The problem was not with those who were there, but rather with those who were conspicuously absent: Augusta was not to be found among the judges, Etienne and his group of thugs were nowhere to be seen and, most irritating of all, Sophicles had disappeared. "Where is he? If he doesn't get here soon, he'll forfeit!" Apollo pulled her heavy cloak more securely around her as a particularly frigid gust of wind passed them by. "If those bastards have done anything to him . . . " It suddenly occurred to her that Severus had said nothing to any comment she'd made in the last five minutes. Glancing up at him, she saw his eyes fixed on a distant gap in the trees. Apollo squinted, but could see nothing particularly odd about it, just another group of the thick conifers that surrounded this desolate place, and not even a particularly attractive cluster at that . . . although, come to think of it, there did seem to be something a little odd happening. It looked, she thought, rather as if the wind had decided to concentrate on them for some reason, as they were all waving madly from side to side although the trees around them were mostly still.  
  
Zosimus, who had never had particularly good far sighted vision, put a hand up to her eyes to shield them from the bright morning sunlight, and tried to puzzle it out. Oh, she thought as sudden comprehension dawned, it isn't wind at all. Something was headed their way through the trees, and its progress was causing them to bend back and forth as it passed. Well, it must be something big, she thought briefly, before Severus gripped her upper arm in a sudden, convulsive movement. Looking at him, Apollo saw the colour in his face had drained away, leaving him almost deathly pale. He swallowed convulsively, but didn't say anything. "Severus, let go of me, that hurts," she complained, then forgot all about the ache in her arm as her attention was drawn back to the forest by a loud crashing sound.  
  
"Oh." It was all she could think of to say, as their next trial emerged from the surrounding cover. Even Zosimus had no difficulty at all making THEM out. Severus made a choking noise, but Apollo was too intrigued to pay him much attention for once. How amazing. She'd never had the opportunity to actually see any giants before, and was now realising that the stories she'd been told about them had not been exaggerations after all. "My, they really ARE huge, aren't they?"  
  
The stands behind them had all grown quiet, the raucous clamour having immediately hushed as if a door had closed, blocking it out. Severus, on the other hand, suddenly became vocal. "Have you ever dealt with them before?," he demanded in a low, urgent tone.  
  
Apollo regarded him with amusement. "Oh yes, the whole family used to go giant hunting every summer, rather a traditional sport . . . "  
  
"I'm serious," he hissed, and indeed, he certainly looked it.  
  
"Well then, act like it. Where would a properly brought up young . . . person . . . such as myself come into contact with THEM?," she waved a hand at the five massive beings who had stopped just outside the forest's edge, leaning on their clubs and gazing hungrily in the direction of Durmstrang. God, she wished the wind would blow in the other direction; she could smell them even over here. Then she realised that it was, in fact, blowing toward the creatures, not away from them. Circe, they must really reek! "There hasn't been any of their kind in France for . . .oh, I don't know, at least a few centuries. And they don't exactly get invited to the right sort of parties, do they?"  
  
Severus nodded slightly. "Right, then. You go tell the judges that you've decided to withdraw. I'll keep us in the contest so that we have an excuse to remain until Albus is found." He had continued to look in undisguised loathing at the creatures across the field while speaking, but at her snort of laughter, he turned his currently bright blue eyes on her. It was so strange to see Albus' usually benign features wearing one of Sev's expressions that she almost laughed. "You WILL withdraw, Apollo," he told her, looking murderous.  
  
She pried his fingers off her bicep and straightened the dull Hogwarts robe she was forced to wear for the competition. "You are quite mad," she informed him flatly.  
  
"Apollo . . . "  
  
They were interrupted by a ringing trumpet blast followed by the magically enhanced voice of the Durmstrang Headmaster. He explained, at what Apollo thought was completely unnecessary length, the rules of this particular trial. What it all came down to was that each of the monsters across the field wore a pendant around its smelly neck--a token that had to be retrieved by any champion who wished to remain in the contest. As there were only five giants, only a maximum of five of the remaining contestants could move into the final elimination round.  
  
Apollo had to piece this information together while fending off more ridiculous demands from her companion. "Oh for God's sake, Severus," she finally hissed at him as the trumpet sounded again signaling the beginning of the trial. "I am most certainly NOT going to withdraw and," she added, eyes flashing warningly, "if you try to hex me when I'm not looking I'll be worse than all five giants to you when I wake up!" He was regarding her, she noticed with alarm, through narrowed eyes and with an expression that did not bode well for her immediate safety. "Sev, Etienne is almost certainly lurking around somewhere--think about that before you leave me wounded or unconscious to his tender ministrations." She would have said more, but her attention was distracted again by the five mountainous beings suddenly turning as one and disappearing back into the forest. "Where are they going? How are we supposed to hex them if they won't stand still?"  
  
Severus muttered something that sounded like "will be the death of me," but surely she'd heard wrong. Then he grabbed her again, by the wrist thankfully as her arm was still sore, and pulled her across the field in the same direction the giants had disappeared. The other champions were also streaming after them. Apollo suddenly realised that this trial was going to consist of giant hunting in an unfamiliar forest that, for all she knew, was filled with Durmstrang booby traps and other champions more than happy to hex them out of existence. She cheered up immediately. This should be fun.  
  
* * *  
  
"And precisely what do you think you're doing?"  
  
Albus looked up from the steam filled cauldron in front of him as a voice made its way through his fog of concentration. He was worried about the state of the potion, as it was currently a runny greenish yellow, which did not look right somehow. Although, it was impossible to be certain as the instructions he'd been given were far from precise. Half the time they gave no hint as to the way the potion should look at a particular stage, not to mention that they were written in the most archaic form of Gaelic he'd ever seen . . .  
  
"I asked you a question."  
  
Albus regarded the tall, dark haired young man leaning against the doorframe in some annoyance. He'd only had a few hours sleep the night before, as the potion could not be left unattended for long, and he was not in the best of moods. The last thing he needed now was a distraction. "I don't think you should be here," he informed him shortly. Augusta had mentioned nothing about him receiving any assistance, and he didn't want to be disqualified for engaging in some forbidden conversation.  
  
The other man smiled, although it was not a particularly nice expression. "How odd. I was about to say the same thing to you."  
  
Albus turned back to his scroll. It was hard to keep his mind off the potion for very long. Something about it was simply fascinating. He had forgotten all about his visitor and was wondering if the veela hair was supposed to be cut up or not--the damned scroll didn't say--when he was hit by a particularly strong spell of some kind. It knocked him back against the table behind him, scattering some of his carefully prepared ingredients across the floor. He remained conscious, however, and, strangely enough, appeared unhurt. An odd spell to use for an attack, he thought, as his eyes misted over. When they cleared again a few seconds later, he had a chance to notice his surroundings.  
  
For a moment he thought he had been transported somewhere else, as his eyes took in the ruin of a room around him. Hung with huge, ancient cobwebs and filled with rubbish, it bore little resemblance to the beautiful chamber in which he'd been working a few seconds before, except for its size and unusual shape. And the fact that the annoying man was still there, arms crossed and black robes falling about him in unstudied elegance. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, but for the moment it eluded Albus. Looking about, he was surprised to see the cauldron with which he had been working, complete with the small tripod underneath it filled with the same purple flames. It was then he realised that he had not, in fact, moved an inch, and wondered why the man had cast such an unappealing illusion around him. He noticed a rat shuffling through some detritus along a nearby wall, but pulled his somewhat fuzzy consciousness away from it and back to his companion.  
  
"Not as pretty now, is it?," the man asked, one brow lifted in sardonic amusement. It was then Albus was able to place him. It simply had to be . . . "Hieronymus?"  
  
He received an approving glint from those black eyes. "Not as slow as you look, are you?" Hieronymus de Plannis sauntered over to the cauldron and peered in disapprovingly. "What step are you on?"  
  
"Seventy-six," Albus responded, unthinkingly. He wished his head would clear as quickly as his vision had done. He felt strange, as if some voice was screaming at him from a very great distance, but he couldn't quite make it out. It seemed very insistent, however, as if there was something important he had forgotten to do.  
  
"Odd," the man sniffed the light green steam rising from the bubbling mixture. "Mine was orange at this stage. Of course," he added thoughtfully, "mine didn't work, either." He glanced at Albus thoughtfully for a minute, "if we had time, I'd like to see you finish it--it would save me so much effort later on." He suddenly became brisk, "but, we don't, so come along, we have to be going."  
  
"Going?," Albus pulled back as the other man gestured toward the open door. "I can't go. I am not even a tenth of the way through the scroll, and Augusta didn't tell me how long the trial lasts."  
  
"The trial?," the man looked confused for an instant, then his brow cleared and he smiled, very slightly. "Oh, so that's what she used, was it? I had wondered." He aimed his wand at Albus again, who found that his own was missing when he instinctively reached for it. "I don't have time to argue with you and I don't know everything my dear patroness used on you, so I can't reverse all of it. You're just going to have to come with me. I'll show you something that may do more than words ever could to demonstrate exactly what is going on. Then you and I are going to have a little talk."  
  
* * *  
  
Delaia rolled out of bed and saw, with some consternation, that the sun was already well up in the sky. She had spent most of the previous evening, and half the night, on another useless search of more claustrophobic tunnels, storerooms and seemingly endless connecting corridors--with the same disappointing result as before. She had finally staggered into bed sometime in the early morning, just intending to get a few hours rest and then head out again while everyone was at the contest. It had occurred to her that Severus' idea that Albus was probably being kept in some out of the way storage facility might be wrong, and that, if she was ever going to have a chance to search the faculty and staff rooms, the trial would be it. So she cursed herself as every kind of fool as she splashed water on her face and tried desperately to wake up. Half the morning was already gone, and with it much valuable time.  
  
Delaia pulled open the door of the shower stall, intending to get a quick bath in the hope that it would finish the job of clearing her brain, when she came face to face with a very red-faced Valentin. Clutching the large towel she'd tucked around herself a little tighter, she stared at the boy. "Valentin! What are you doing hiding in there?"  
  
The boy's embarrassment faded as he determined that she was, indeed, decently covered, and was replaced by a look that could only be fear. "She's looking for me. She came to the infirmary this morning, but I managed to get away just in time. She wants this back--says it has done all it can for me." One age spotted hand clutched protectively at the silver talisman on its sturdy chain about his neck. "But I'm not giving it back!" His voice shook but sounded resolute. "She'll just use it on somebody else, and she'll stay young forever, while we . . . ," his dark eyes filled with tears and yet he managed to look angry all the same.  
  
He obviously couldn't finish, but Delaia didn't need him to. She knew, of course, who "she" was--there was only one person spoken of in that particular tone of voice at Durmstrang--and Delaia happened to agree with him. There was no way Augusta was getting that talisman back--not ever. Merlin only knew how many lives would suffer for it if she did.  
  
Delaia pulled the shivering boy out of the stall and sent him into her room while she took a very quick bath. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but destroying the thing seemed the most sensible. It was a powerful magical object, true, but none were so much so that they could not be defeated. You just had to discover their weaknesses. It was as the hot water was gushing over her hair, allowing some of the accumulated grey dust of the previous day's search to wash away, that it happened. Her mind conjured up the image of Valentin with his boy's body but old man's features, framed by prematurely grey hair that would never be black again no matter how much he washed it, and something snapped. No. She turned off the water and briskly dried herself. She still wasn't clean, but after days of crawling around Durmstrang, in some cases literally, she thought it would probably take a week at a luxury spa to ever make her feel truly clean again. At the moment she didn't care anyway. Her mind was busy with more important matters, specifically with the beginnings of a wicked little plan that might right a few of the many things wrong at Durmstrang.  
  
"Alright, Valentin," she said, emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later, attired in her last clean robe. "I need you to tell me everything you know about how the talisman works."  
  
* * *  
  
Severus felt like a hundred ants were tap dancing up and down his spine, but knew it was only nerves. At least, he hoped it was--God knew what hideous enchantments might have been placed on any insects around here. Even worse than the feeling that he was being watched, and not by friendly eyes, was the insufferable cheerfulness of the witch at his side. He had actually had to order her a few minutes before to stop HUMMING for Merlin's sake! In a wood full of monsters whose favourite meal was human flesh, preferably while said human was still alive and writhing in agony, Apollo looked like she was setting off for a pleasant day's shopping in the Avenue Inclinée.  
  
Severus had done everything he could think of to safeguard them, and now that Apollo was at least being quiet for a change, he could try to think what, if anything, he'd forgotten. They had spelled each other to avoid giving off any odor, no matter how undetectable to humans, as giants' sense of smell was particularly acute. They had also cast strong do not notice charms on each other, so that they could hopefully pass undetected by sight as well. The problem for Severus was that, although he did have some experience with the creatures, it was not particularly useful under these circumstances.  
  
The last time Voldemort had been active, some giants had fought on his side and Severus had seen just what they could do in battle. Standard spells simply washed over them. It was rather the inverse of what had happened with Apollo's potion and the house elves. Smaller creatures with a dissimilar metabolism to humans, they had reacted much more strongly to the deinhibitor than Durmstrang's students would have done. The giants, on the other hand, shook off most spells that were thrown at them, even by experienced Aurors, and just kept going. It took the combined efforts of two or, in many cases, three wizards, to bring one down, and even then it was risky. He only had one assistant, and one who refused to take their predicament seriously at that, and no real experience fighting the creatures himself. He had, after all, been on their side in his few previous encounters. Not, he recalled with a shiver, that that fact had kept them from openly drooling whenever he and his fellow death eaters had been around. He frankly doubted that the giants had cared, once in the thick of the fight, exactly who formed their midnight snack. He had always taken good care to keep as far away from them as possible, a maxim he sincerely wished he could keep to at the moment.  
  
Apollo, he noted, had stopped and was regarding a small tree in front of her. "This is perfect," she said with satisfaction.  
  
"Perfect for what? Those things have clubs larger than that."  
  
"So?," she looked at him archly over her shoulder. "I'm not planning to hit them with it." She rolled up the sleeves of her uncharacteristically plain robes and brought out her wand. "Transfiguration was never my strong suit, so you might want to stand back a bit. I happen to like you the way you are."  
  
Severus moved out of the way, wishing she would refrain from pointless comments like that. As soon as they found Albus, he and Delaia's job was done. They would go back to their time, Apollo and Albus would stay in theirs. Nothing else was possible--without their combined opposition, Grindlewald would take over the wizarding world in the 40's, and, even if he didn't, Voldemort would certainly triumph in his first bid for power four decades later. Harry bloody Potter might have gotten all the fame for his defeat, but Severus had been there and knew too well just how many times Albus had thwarted Voldemort's plans before the Potter brat was ever involved. He didn't know just how much of a part Zosimus had played in the dark lord's initial defeat, but he imagined it had been considerable. God knows, she certainly did not seem capable of resisting trouble in this time period, why should an older version be any different?  
  
Apollo broke into his reverie by sending a blast of yellow light towards the small tree in front of her, transforming it into a large, three tiered cake, complete with bright pink frosting.  
  
"And just what is that supposed to be?"  
  
"Bait," was her succinct reply. She drew a potion vial out of her robes and, before he could stop her, plucked a long hair from his head. Adding the two together, she watched as the mixture turned a bright pink to match the cake, then poured it all over top of the confection. It did mar the icing slightly as it sank in, but Apollo fixed that with a wave of her wand. She stepped back, looking satisfied. "There, now all we need to do is wait until one of them comes along and eats it."  
  
"I sincerely hope," he began, trying his best to keep his voice level, "that you did not just pour a love potion over that thing."  
  
"Oh, don't worry--it will work. I made it quite strong," she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bushes. "I used the whole vial, didn't you see? Any giant who eats THAT will adore you, darling. When they pick you up for a cuddle, you grab the token."  
  
"A cuddle?" Severus was close to incoherence. Before he could raise his wand to blast out of existence Apollo's latest venture into absurdity, a crashing sound in the undergrowth alerted him to the fact that they were no longer alone. It was not one of the giants that burst into the clearing, however, but rather four boys in Beauxbatons blue followed by four in Durmstrang red. Severus thought for a minute that that he and Apollo might be witnessing the beginning of a duel between the schools, as all eight had their wands out and looked frankly murderous, but the blond boy in front soon disabused him of that comforting hope.  
  
"Oh, Apollo, dearest. Come out, come out, wherever you are. A few friends and I would like a word." 


	10. Book II, Chapter X

The Golden Elixir, Chapter Ten  
  
  
  
Albus looked about the large rectangular room and tried to concentrate. His companion, who still had a wand leveled on him, was not helping matters any, but the real distraction was the . . . things . . . in cages along the back wall. With a head that still felt as though he had downed a cask or two of Durmstrang's evil smelling beer, he could not make any sense at all of the disturbing thing that sat in the pen closest to him, calmly regarding him through great golden eyes. It LOOKED almost like someone had crossed a house elf with one of the pterodactyl-type birds that lived down in the caverns, but obviously that couldn't be right. Disturbingly, it was the least alarming of the specimens on display. He was resolutely not looking in the direction of the door, as the brief glance he'd had of the contents of one cage in particular had almost caused him to start hyperventilating earlier. He kept telling himself that it was all just part of the hallucination his companion had placed on him, that none of it was real. But he couldn't imagine how anyone's mind, however diseased, could dream up such things.  
  
"So, when enough people began to suspect what she was doing--after all, only so many children can go missing in freak accidents before suspicions arise--she decided a new source of magical power had to be found. Unfortunately, she was not able to hit upon a creature, other than humans, with an energy source compatible both with the talisman and her own magic. So she began the experiments. Despite years of cross-genetic pairings, however, some of which resulted in quite powerful magical creatures indeed, witches and wizards remain the only usable source for her needs. Not that that has caused her to end the experiments--she still holds out hope--but it did result in her switching the majority of her interest to the Philosopher's Stone recently, as obtaining one would insure that her supply of human donors would need to be much smaller. A large percentage of each subject's power is wasted at present just sustaining her health and appearance."  
  
What made the whole experience truly surreal, Albus decided as the floor seemed to sway under his feet, was the completely dispassionate tone with which the young man opposite him voiced these comments.  
  
"Of course," Hieronymus continued, bending to peruse what looked like a merger between a merman and a water snake, with a tail so long that it had to be wrapped several times around his body just to permit any movement within his cramped tank, "the quest for eternal youth and beauty were the start of it all, some seventy years ago now, but the search has shifted to something rather more impressive these days. Did you notice what it's like, when you're wearing the talisman? Intoxicating, isn't it? You can think much more quickly, react faster, even see and hear better--and your magical ability . . . well, there's just no comparison, is there? A witch or wizard with the talisman to draw from, has abilities that make you or I seem like little more than muggles. It's completely seductive and utterly addictive. And that is just with one person powering it."  
  
Hieronymus moved away from the tank when the mer-snake bared wicked looking fangs at him. "I suppose it was inevitable, really, that sooner or later she would ask the obvious question. What would happen if the powers of many wizards could be harnessed at once? What would it be like, to have the life-time magical abilities of ten, a hundred, a thousand people, all at your disposal, all at once?"  
  
He gestured around at the grotesque menagerie. "I commented shortly after arriving and seeing all this, that it looked rather like she was trying to play God. Thankfully, she didn't take it badly; in fact, she laughed." He moved to stand within a few inches of Albus, who couldn't help shivering. The whole experience was sensory overload, surrounded by hideous things, being regaled with a scenario far beyond any nightmare he had ever had, and now Hieronymus was grinning at him. "She said," the dark boy went on, his voice barely above a whisper, "that she wasn't playing--that sooner or later, she would BE a god, or close enough that it made no difference." He draped an arm about Albus' shoulders, in a parody of comradeship. Albus, who was trying very hard not to be sick, did not bother to even attempt to shift him, not even when he dragged him over to the cage he'd been avoiding.  
  
"If she gets the stone, her power will greatly increase, as it will sustain her life without any drain from her subjects. That, in turn, will allow her to take certain steps she's been planning for a long time, to gain enough control over the wizarding world to insure a steady supply of donors with no awkward questions being asked about where all the children are disappearing to."  
  
Albus could not avoid looking at the monster in the cage any more. Some part of his mind, which was slowly waking from whatever spell he'd been put under, had begun screaming some time before, but the volume level in his head hit a new high as he regarded the bastardized version of a phoenix sitting in its cage. Albus had always been very fond of Fawkes, ever since his grandfather gave it to him on his eleventh birthday, but he didn't think he'd ever be able to look at his familiar the same way again. Instead of the benevolent, often sleepy eyed gaze he was used to, this bird had the burning, mad eyes of some other creature. He could not tell which, but they looked almost human, and their expression was that of someone tortured beyond all reason.  
  
His companion pulled him close to whisper a final unwanted piece of information in his ear. "Of course, all that's just a prelude to what she really wants to get started on--a new range of experiments crossing wizards with other magical creatures, to obtain a purer and longer-lasting energy source. And, thanks to you, she'll have all eternity to perfect it."  
  
The phoenix-thing suddenly began screaming, a high-pitched, horrible whine unlike anything Albus had ever heard. It seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body in sickening waves, and started off all the other creatures, which added their own undecipherable commentary to the hideous cacophony now echoing off the walls. It was the most horrific sound Albus had ever heard, but he didn't have to endure it long, as his mind finally gave up the fight and he fainted dead away.  
  
* * *  
  
Apollo wrinkled her nose at Sev, but didn't otherwise comment on the restraining hand he'd placed on her arm. As if she would be stupid enough to venture out against such odds. Not that hexing Etienne into the next life was at all a displeasing thought, but as his friends would insure that she followed closely after him, she supposed she'd have to forgo that particular pleasure for the moment. Luckily the charms they had cast over themselves earlier were momentarily concealing them from the mob that was now searching the undergrowth, but she did not find crouching under a very scratchy clump of bushes appealing, especially as the search seemed to be headed their way.  
  
A flick of her wand set up a quietus perimeter around she and Severus, allowing her to speak without giving away their position. It also helped to muffle the taunts Etienne was spouting, apparently in the idiotic hope that one or more of them would draw her out. Really, as if they hadn't been insulting each other practically since birth; it wasn't as if she hadn't heard his entire repertoire many times over, and he wasn't even original enough to come up with any new ones. "I'm open to suggestions, darling," she told Severus frankly. He scowled, but as he did that habitually anyway, Apollo decided not to take it personally.  
  
"Would I be correct in assuming that an ambush to knock us out of competition is not your cousin's primary objective?"  
  
Apollo smiled, it always pleased her when Severus deduced something without having to be told. Intelligence was so attractive. "Right in one, although I'm sure that's the story he gave Durmstrang to acquire their assistance. I suppose the idea is to have them hex us into unconsciousness, then run back to the trial while he finishes us off. They probably don't even know what he plans, and may never as our demise could be made to look like one of the giants was responsible. I somehow doubt anyone at Durmstrang would investigate too thoroughly another couple of Triwizard fatalities." For the first time, she stopped being irritated with Sophicles. Wherever the boy was, he was probably safer than he would be with them. Etienne's obsession had skewed the Tournament odds from bad to positively frightful.  
  
She noticed that Severus seemed to be having trouble breathing. Apollo patted him solicitously on the back, but received only a renewed glare in response. She left her hand where it was, however, worried that she could feel his spine so easily even through the thick robes they wore. He ought to renew the polyjuice, but she didn't suppose it mattered at the moment. She really needed to fatten him up, not that the gaunt look wasn't attractive to a degree, but a few more pounds would be nice. She added a note to that effect to her mental file labeled Project: Severus, which also contained ideas for better hair care and some new robes. Not the joke type she'd been unable to resist sending him before, but something more refined, maybe in a nice royal blue . . . "What?" Severus was regarding her with a look she couldn't quite define, but thought might be somewhere between bewilderment and disgust--which was hardly fair as she was thinking about his welfare, after all.  
  
"And exactly why does your cousin wish to kill you and spread your remains across a mile or so of forest?"  
  
Zosimus sighed. His voice had THAT sound in it, the one she really hated, the one that said "I can't believe I'm lumbered with someone this incompetent" without having to actually say the words. Not that he'd probably mind voicing them, she thought sourly. Add another jot to mental note--arrange a moment to define relationship rules with Severus, and one of hers would unquestionably be no use of that tone ever no matter how annoyed you may become.  
  
Noticing that Severus was slowly turning purple, Apollo thought it might be a good time to come up with an answer. Much as it pained her, she supposed the truth was going to have to do. "He's been trying to murder me for years. If I die, and my father has no more male children, which doesn't look likely as mother is getting on a bit, although according to Delaia I do get a baby sister in a few years, but of course, that won't help, will it? In any case, as things now stand, after me, he's next in line to inherit one of the largest fortunes in France. Assuming father doesn't manage to spend most of it before anyone can inherit. Anyway, Etienne's always hated me. Or, rather, he's always hated Apollo, even though he's never actually MET Apollo--the real one, I mean--but naturally he doesn't know that. And it didn't help that I was always better than him at everything, well, except for dueling, mores the pity considering the current circumstances, and he's jealous. Besides, I'm better looking. But it's mostly the money."  
  
Severus was looking a bit dazed, she noticed. "So," he began, then stopped, putting a shaking hand to his head. Apollo wondered if that was why he'd been acting so snarky all day. Maybe the poor thing had a headache. Mental note to find out if he often has headaches, and to brew up something to alleviate them. He finally decided to try again. "Etienne has been trying to kill you for years, and you never once mentioned this? Is it at all possible that the thugs who stabbed you in Paris were connected with your cousin?"  
  
Apollo sighed. She'd known, of course, that they were going to have to have this conversation sooner or later, but had been deliberately avoiding it. She'd envisioned bringing it up after they'd had a good meal, maybe all alone in their room, with two or three bottles of excellent wine to mellow the mood a bit, and, in a few of her better fantasies, Severus had responded to her tale of woe by comforting her in some very satisfactory ways thereafter. Their current position, doubled up under a bush, being hunted by giants and assorted maniacs, did not feature anywhere in the fantasy. Severus didn't look particularly mellow, either, and there was no wine in sight. Which was too bad because she could really have used some. But there was no help for it.  
  
"Yes, I knew who they were. Etienne has had difficulty getting to me since I decided to go to Hogwarts rather than put my neck in the noose at Beauxbatons. So he's recently taken to sending little assassination parties after me from time to time, and I suppose he thought using muggles would be a good idea as I wouldn't be expecting to be attacked by an actual KNIFE for God's sake, and wouldn't have taken suitable precautions. He was right about that," she was annoyed to have to admit it, but she'd walked right into that one. "I suppose he heard that I was trying to obtain Tizheruk venom and thought setting up a false buy would give him a perfect opportunity to finish me off. Thanks to you, it didn't work."  
  
"And you waited to tell me about this until now because . . . ?"  
  
Apollo sighed again. This was definitely not her day. "I didn't want to worry you."  
  
Apollo was very glad she'd performed the quietus charm, as the explosion following that little pronouncement would have drawn people from miles away. After awhile, she stopped listening to Severus' rant and resumed watching the searchers. They were definitely circling closer now. Of course, that big pink confection in the middle of the clearing WAS rather a give away, she thought, and noticed with annoyance that the icing had started to melt, running in small rivulets down the sides. Oh well, she supposed it didn't really matter, after all, as far as she could tell from their personal hygiene, giants seemed less than discerning.  
  
It was that last thought that caused Apollo to experience an epiphany. Putting a hand over Sev's mouth to shut him up for a minute, she grinned a particularly Slytherin smile. "I just had a really interesting idea." 


	11. Book II, Chapter XI

Golden Elixir, Chapter Eleven  
  
  
  
Consciousness returned to Albus along with a raging migraine. He was only distracted for a moment by the pain, however, before the day's events came flooding back. The throbbing in his head did not keep him from thinking clearly for the first time in what seemed like days . . . in fact, it was days, he reminded himself. Augusta must have put a hell of a memory spell on him for it to last so long and be so impenetrable. Apparently it also induced extreme gullibility; at least, he hoped so. He would hate to believe he'd swallowed that tripe about needing to create the Philosopher's Stone for the next Triwizard event on his own!  
  
He blearily looked around, carefully avoiding sudden movements that would cause flashes of agony to bounce from one temple to the other. He muttered a healing charm over himself that cut the headache somewhat, but without his wand there was little more he could do. No one other than his parents knew, but his brother wasn't the only one who could do wandless magic; however, his abilities were not on a par with Aberforth's in that area. He suspected that he'd need a potion, or a very long holiday, to get rid of the pain entirely. Memory charms often had that effect when countered, and Hieronymus had not bothered to be too gentle with the removal of his.  
  
Looking around, Albus saw that he was no longer in the chamber of horrors, but was reclining on a comfortable divan in someone's rooms. Judging by the hue of the walls, he was still rather deep in the caverns, probably in Hieronymus' quarters then. It was not a particularly reassuring thought. With his head finally clear enough to permit him to put the pieces together, Augusta had taken on the image of a fiend straight out of hell; however, he wasn't at all certain that Valentin's brother was much better. Somehow, he didn't think that rescuing him had been an act of charity, and the man's absence made him apprehensive of exactly what he might be doing.  
  
Albus levered himself to his feet slowly and, when no waves of dizziness assaulted him, crossed the room to the door leading out. It was locked and warded, but a few moments work too care of that. Hieronymus could take a few lessons from Geoffrey, he thought in amusement. The Gryffindor had been endlessly inventive in coming up with new ways to keep Albus out of his quarters. After dealing with a few traumatized first years who'd been dragged into his sanctum, Albus had started doing regular bed checks on his fellow prefect. Geoffrey had responded by putting much more elaborate wards on his rooms, some of which were quite nasty. Following an accidental encounter with one of them, Neil, Geoffrey's favourite partner in crime, had turned a vivid orange and only been able to speak Welsh for a week--and that was fairly early on in their little game. Albus had not wanted to know what the more sophisticated versions that appeared thereafter had been capable of--he'd thankfully never found out the hard way. In any case, none had held up for long once he began an intensive study of the more complex warding spells with the aid of a few books from the library's restricted section, but they had provided him with plenty of practise. The fact that his new-found talent absolutely infuriated Geoffrey was just a bonus. The thing that most annoyed him seemed to be that Albus didn't bother with wards himself. Geoffrey had discovered why after he was set upon by Fawkes and Sosi the only time he broke into Albus' rooms; with pets like his, wards seemed somewhat superfluous. In any case, Hieronymus' attempts were really quite juvenile by comparison with those he'd been disarming all year.  
  
After a few seconds' work, the door swung outward into the corridor, but was almost immediately slammed back against him. He thought for a moment that he'd missed one of the wards, but the door didn't catch again. He pushed it more carefully this time, and peered cautiously out the opening, only to see the hideous spectacle of what looked to be the entire contents of Augusta's demented zoo rampaging down the hall at him in a flurry of wings, fangs and scaly appendages. Without his wand, Albus was in a hopeless situation, but before he could slam the door again in a futile attempt to save himself, he noticed that the creatures were bypassing his door without even slowing down. An even stranger sight, under the circumstances, was the person following after them, looking quite pleased with himself.  
  
"Sophicles?"  
  
"Oh, hello Albus." The little Hufflepuff paused and regarded him quizzically through his heavy spectacles. "Everyone's been looking for you, did you know?"  
  
"Er, yes, I suppose they must have been."  
  
"Delaia's been quite frantic, you should go calm her down or something."  
  
It took a second for Albus to realise just what the other boy had said. "Her?"  
  
Sophicles gave him an arch look. "Oh, really, Albus. I'm nearsighted, not blind. Of course she's a girl. So's Apollo, by the way, did you know? Don't really see how I missed THAT one, to tell you the truth."  
  
"Apollo . . . is a girl?" Albus wondered if his confundus charm was coming back again.  
  
"Oh, yes. Although I believe she's using polyjuice to hide her identity, rather than a glamour like Delaia. I could be wrong, though, as I've been too busy lately to spend much time on it." He nodded after the mob that had passed them by and was rapidly disappearing up the corridor. "I'd like to stay and catch up with you, Albus, but I really have to be going."  
  
"Where . . . where are you off to?"  
  
"Oh," Sophicles' eyes gleamed behind his overlong bangs. "I just had an interesting discussion with some new friends." He bared his teeth in what might, charitably, have been called a smile. The expression looked strange on his usually pleasant features. "They say they'd like to have a little chat with Augusta. . . . I thought it might be fun to watch."  
  
Albus considered this for a second. "Would you mind some company?," he asked hopefully.  
  
* * *  
  
Delaia checked again, just to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. The contents of Albus' robes, which Severus had piled on the night table in his room, had proven most illuminating. The use of a few of the items still eluded her, but the ones she had deciphered should be adequate. At least she certainly hoped so. She also fervently hoped she had the spell right. Valentin had gone over it with her repeatedly, but that was never the same as actual practise. To Delaia's shock, he had even volunteered to have her try it out on him, replying to her horrified refusal that it couldn't do much more damage and might improve their chances considerably. Delaia had not been able to bring herself to try it, however, as a spell that strong could prove fatal if miscast. If she was going to kill someone, she vastly preferred it to be Augusta. Of course, it would be better if the spell worked, as killing the conasse would not be half as satisfying as what she had planned, nor would it help Valentin.  
  
They crept down a number of hidden passageways that her companion seemed to know quite well. Apparently, he had escaped several times, but never quite managed to make it out of the rabbit warren of caves beneath Durmstrang before Augusta had caught up with him. She had finally caged him in her menagerie primarily because it was much more difficult to break out of than her rooms or laboratory. Delaia was grateful that his plan hadn't worked, as distance would not have severed the connection with Augusta; once cast, nothing could do that except the talisman or the death of one of the participants. She assumed Augusta had only prevented his escape to insure that he didn't take his own life just to spite her. Thankfully, it was not an idea that ever seemed to have occurred to Valentin, who had a strong survival instinct.  
  
The problem was that the damned woman had to be found before she could be dealt with, and despite their best efforts, no one seemed to know where the elusive witch might be. They had checked all the more likely places, and were now proceeding to comb the lesser used storage facilities on the upper levels of the cavern complex. Valentin had hidden in one for several days during one escape attempt, but had been found when he ventured out in search of food. The idea of their present search was that, assuming Augusta still thought he was attempting to hide from her, perhaps she would check his old haunts. So far, however, the inches of dust in the deserted rooms had clearly indicated that no one had been through them in some time. Delaia fingered the talisman in the inner sections of her robe and wished something would happen. Patience had never been her strong suit, and she'd had enough fruitless searching in the last few days to last her a lifetime.  
  
"Alohomora." As the basic lock-opening spell was sufficient to cause the latch on the heavy door of the last room on their list to slide open, Delaia was fairly sure it would not reveal anything interesting. The empty room that met her gaze reaffirmed the suspicion that this cavern had not been used for anything, even storage, in quite some time. It was disheartening as they had already checked everywhere else.  
  
"Damn." She was too depressed to even bother expressing her annoyance properly. "Think, Valentin, what have we missed? I can't believe she'd just disappear, not without having recovered the talisman, and besides, the trials are going on today . . . "  
  
They both looked at each other at the same moment, then collided in a mad dash to get out the door. God, I must be truly thick, Delaia thought in disgust. Of course, it was a long shot, but why not? Maybe it made sense to look for Augusta where she was actually supposed to be--in the Triwizard judges' booth. Of course, had it been her, Delaia would have been scouring the complex looking for Valentin and his precious bauble rather than judging some stupid event, but then, after everything Severus and Valentin had told her, it was obvious that the woman's mind worked in anything but a normal way.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the two arrived, panting slightly, above ground. The first fresh air she'd smelt in days was heavenly, even heavily scented as it was with pine, and the wind felt good against her overheated skin, although it was not long before she was wishing she had thought to bring a cloak. She soon identified the dais where the judges were seated, but Augusta was not among them. Still, that didn't mean she wasn't prowling the grounds somewhere. After all, if Valentin had succeeded in getting away, wouldn't it be logical to assume he'd try to get as far from Durmstrang as possible? He had already tried hiding within the castle-- he'd told her that his initial instinct had been to look for his brother, but he'd never been able to find him--so Augusta might well assume, if she did not realise just how much he had learned about the talisman, that he'd decided to run for it. Even if that were the case, however, finding one petite witch in the huge crowd that had assembled for the trial was going to be a challenge.  
  
"What colour robes was she wearing when you saw her this morning?"  
  
Valentin, who had also been scanning the crowd, looked up at her. "Red," he replied succinctly. His tone said that he was just as disgusted by that fact as she.  
  
Looking at the hundreds of red robed Durmstrang students and alumni milling around them, Delaia felt what little hope she'd had fade away. This was impossible. They'd do better to go back to Augusta's work-rooms and wait until SHE found THEM. Delaia hated giving the initiative to someone else, though, especially someone that frighteningly capable. As she was trying to decide between retreat and an exhausting and probably useless search, a new element was added to the equation. Glancing at the forest, Delaia saw something odd. Alright, more than odd. It was a sight she doubted anyone had seen in. . . well, history had never been her best subject, but a very long time.  
  
"Valentin," she began, but had to stop and swallow a rising sense of dread before she could continue.  
  
"What?" The boy regarded her tetchily. "Can't you see this is useless? We'll never find her in all this, and even if we did, you can't do anything in front of witnesses."  
  
"Er, Valentin . . . ," Delaia, momentarily incapable of forming phrases, just tugged on his sleeve.  
  
"What? I suggest we go back inside. Besides, it's freezing out here."  
  
"Valentin," she tried one more time and found that her voice had finally returned, "I think we have another problem."  
  
"What other . . . oh." He stopped as he followed the direction of her gaze. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again. "Are those . . . elves? Real elves? I didn't know they were using THEM in the Tournament. I wonder how they persuaded them to agree?"  
  
Delaia began slowly drawing him back the way they'd come, which also happened to lead away from the line of elvish bowmen who had taken up position just outside the forest perimeter. The green of their tunics melded into the background of the trees, but their silver weapons stood out nicely, gleaming dully in the sun. If there were that many they could see, it didn't even bear thinking about how many more there might be that they couldn't. Apparently, Aberforth was as efficient as his brother, damn him. "I don't think they are here for the Tournament," she told Valentin shortly.  
  
"Then what . . . ," he broke off as they rounded the side of the castle, only to see a similar line up facing them across the undulating plain ahead. It did not take much imagination for Delaia to assume the truth without having to verify it in any further. They were almost certainly surrounded.  
  
She felt her wand tingle against her skin and drew back, flattening herself against the castle walls. Don't panic, she told herself, and then proceeded to do just that. Oh, God, not now! Not when they had the damned elixir! She bloody well HATED Aberforth Dumbledore! She still hadn't found Albus nor dealt with Valentin's situation, not to mention that Severus and Apollo were God knew where. She had to get the wand to Severus along with the potion, which was still back in their rooms so he and, unless she was much mistaken, Apollo could get out of there. Delaia, of course, had no intention of time shifting. She'd made up her mind to that some time back, but that was assuming Albus was alright, as getting stuck in this era without him was certainly not an acceptable possibility . . .  
  
"Delaia," she felt a hesitant tug on her sleeve.  
  
"Valentin, I'm trying to think!"  
  
"Well, you might want to do it in another location," he commented in an eerie semblance of Snape's best drawl. He indicated the columns of elves, who had begun advancing on the castle in green waves. "I think they're coming this way." 


	12. Book II, Chapter XII

Golden Elixir, Chapter Twelve  
  
  
  
Severus Snape was amused. He was not about to do anything so obvious as smile--after all, the witch at his side certainly needed no encouragement for her outrageous behaviour--but this was a sight he would long cherish when darker thoughts seemed to overwhelm. The four Durmstrang students were closing in, he noticed approvingly, their formation carefully designed to permit no possibility for escape to the quartet from Beauxbatons, who were as yet unaware of the danger that stalked them.  
  
The misty potion cloud that Apollo had sent to hover 'round the heads of the red clad students a few moments before had been effective; their eyes had gone dreamy and their faces softened, which did not greatly improve their heavy features. Nonetheless, it had been obvious that the desired transformation had taken place in their mental priorities. Severus had looked on delightedly as they blinked, looked confused for a moment, and then one of them spied the blue robed boys conducting a careful search nearby. A nudge, a wink and a whisper later, and the Beauxbatons foursome became the prey rather than the hunters, although the silly gits had yet to realise it. Severus, leaning forward in anticipation of the moment when they did, was annoyed to feel Apollo tugging at his sleeve.  
  
"Leave off. This might prove entertaining." He had never thought the day would come when one of her damned love potions would actually amuse him, but he had a feeling that today might be the day.  
  
"Er, Severus . . . no one mentioned any additional . . . complications . . . in the trial, did they?"  
  
Severus, who was busy watching the biggest Durmstrang brute as he grabbed an unsuspecting French boy and disappeared with him into the undergrowth, just shrugged. "Nothing at this carnival of madness would surprise me. Neither school has ever fought fair, although," he added with genuine mirth, "they may wish they had, this time." Etienne looked up from his previous occupation of setting a bush on fire in an attempt, Severus supposed, to flush them out, to find himself jumped by two Durmstrang boys. A fight quickly broke out as they struggled over their prize. Etienne's companions and the third Durmstrang student quickly entered the fray, while panicked screams could be heard from deeper into woods where the other boys had disappeared. Wishing he had some popcorn, Severus settled in more comfortably to enjoy the show.  
  
"So . . .," Apollo once again interrupted his pleasure, "any other problems that do crop up might have nothing to do with the contest?"  
  
"How should I know?," Severus replied testily. He didn't understand why the girl couldn't simply sit still and enjoy the splendid spectacle before them. Etienne, who had been grabbed around the throat by a rough looking Durmstrang lad, was slowly turning purple as his captor's grip became more restrictive; the bigger boy was having to fight to keep his prize from being nabbed by his fellow student, while at the same time keeping his wand hand free to repel the curses being hurled at him by the French duo. "What difference does it make?," Severus responded reasonably. "All the other contestants are currently killing each other--or worse," he smirked as another howl drifted through the air from the bushes. A second later, a distraught and disheveled French boy pelted from the undergrowth right into the middle of the melee, followed quickly by an over-excited Russian. "We'll stay for the show, then hex the winners. In the end, they'll have to call a draw and that should buy us another few days to sort out this mess." It was an excellent plan, he thought smugly, and one that had the added bonus of keeping them away from any rampaging giants. They might actually manage to get out of this with a whole skin after all.  
  
"I don't know that that will be an option, Severus," Apollo replied in a subdued voice. Tearing his eyes away from the hilarity a few yards away, Severus turned to ask her to please stop ruining his fun, only to find a wicked looking arrow hovering a few inches from his abused nose. Following it along the shaft, he discovered with little relief at all that it was still notched on a bow, which was held by a green clad figure with waist length white gold hair.  
  
Severus swallowed and glanced sideways, to see that Apollo was facing a similar situation. Another archer, this time in silver grey, had an arrow pointed firmly at her, while a third neatly relieved them of their wands. The two archers had the slender, delicate beauty gifted to the elvish race, but their companion's features were more prosaic. Not to mention familiar.  
  
"Hallo, Hieronymus. Glad to see you again. Wouldn't mind coming with me for just a moment, would you? A friend wants to ask a few questions."  
  
Severus grimaced. Of course, he thought in resignation. Albus' brother would just HAVE to show up now, wouldn't he? Well, at least it looked like the show was mostly over. Giving one last wistful glance at the pandemonium behind him, which was fast disappearing into the deeper woods as the Beauxbatons students broke away and ran for their lives, he followed Aberforth and a dazed looking Apollo out of the forest.  
  
* * *  
  
Albus and Sophicles trailed the stream of strange creatures through the maze of corridors to the upper levels of Durmstrang, and then into the cold, clear air outside. After the gloom of the interior, the bright sunlight flooding the field in front of him made Albus blink. Perhaps Sophicles' glasses cut the glare somewhat, for he moved forward confidently, Albus following half-blind in his wake. They dodged through the mass of people with difficulty, whose screams as they beheld some of Augusta's more creative endeavours rent the air and soon caused general pandemonium. Luckily, the stampede of the crowd was away from them and their accompanying entourage, which allowed Albus time to adjust his vision without being trampled underfoot. Sophicles, with one chubby hand shielding his eyes, scanned the crowd, flanked on one side by a strange variant on a Fwooper, its orange and green plumage studded with brilliant, iridescent blue feathers that reminded Albus' of a Billywig's, and on the other by a tiny sphinx. The latter's nose was twitching, as if trying to find Augusta's scent on the breeze.  
  
It was the Fwooper that gave a sudden, high-pitched caw, and sped off across the heads of the crowd towards the forest. Sophicles scrabbled after it, his chubby legs covering the ground faster than Albus would have expected. He loped alongside for a dozen yards, before the crowd of witches and wizards in front of them made a sudden turn and began racing back at the castle again. In the confusion that followed, Albus lost sight of Sophicles, received a harsh elbow in the ribs from a passerby, which knocked most of the air from his lungs, and was almost knocked to the ground several times. When the worst of it had passed, Albus looked cautiously around, just in time to be bowled over by a short, dark-haired person who was screaming his name. It took him a few seconds to appreciate that it was Delaia and not another of Augusta's demented experiments, although the girl who grabbed him by the front of his robes did not look much saner.  
  
"Delaia . . .please, I am ecstatic to see you, too, but . . . "  
  
"Oh, come ON!," she cried, managing to drag him to his feet, while glancing back fearfully over her shoulder.  
  
"Delaia," he attempted to assure her, "you don't need to be concerned. I know they look frightful, but most of them are really very . . . " For a moment he couldn't think of quite the right word. Sweet was hardly accurate, yet they certainly seemed to have some type of rapport with Sophicles, and none had actually tried to gouge his eyes out . . . at least not yet. He finally settled for "harmless."  
  
"Oh, then why are they drawing arrows on us?"  
  
Albus glanced towards the forest, wondering what she could possibly mean, when he saw the awe inspiring sight of an elvish army crossing the field towards them with purposeful strides. "My God . . . "  
  
"Come on!," despite appearances, Delaia was quite strong, and without his resistance managed to tow him back towards Durmstrang at a rather fast pace. Near the main wall of the castle they stopped, and Albus saw what had to be another example of Augusta's. handiwork waiting for them in the shadow of an overhanging battlement. "Albus, meet the real Valentin de Plannis. You met once before but you probably don't remember, thanks to Augusta."  
  
The . . . boy . . . or whatever he was, smiled charmingly and gave Albus a proper, if slightly mocking bow. "Nice to meet you. Welcome to hell."  
  
"Shut up, Valentin." Delaia's absent-minded tone didn't match the harshness of her words, and the boy did not seem particularly offended. Albus, deciding that an attempt to understand any of this was probably a wasted effort at the moment, turned to the girl at his side. "The wand?"  
  
"Safe," she briefly tapped her left sleeve, "but not for long. Did you get it?" Albus was confused for an instant, before he realised that she was not talking to him.  
  
Valentin nodded, and produced several large vials from a pocket of his robes. "I assume these are the ones you meant--they were the only ones I saw of the right colour."  
  
Delaia stepped slightly out of the shadow of the castle wall, ignoring with what Albus thought was reckless folly the advancing army, whose measured strides had now covered half the field. As she held one of the vials up to the sunlight, he could see the mixture inside take on a shimmering, golden tone.  
  
"Is that what I think it is?"  
  
Delaia stuffed the vials into a pocket of her robes and shrugged. "I hope so--Apollo said it would work. But whether it does or not is irrelevant if we don't find Severus before . . ., " she nodded at the advancing army.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"If we knew that, we wouldn't have a problem, would we?," she replied, with more bite in her tone than she usually reserved for him. "He and Apollo are out there somewhere, taking part in the second Triwizard event. They could be anywhere--but are almost certainly on the OTHER side of that army."  
  
"I could take the wand," Valentin offered. "They're looking for the two of you, not me. Then you could find your friend, and meet up with me later."  
  
Delaia shook her head resolutely. "I am NOT breaking us up again. I keep losing people. We have to stay together and see this through. Besides, Augusta is looking for you. If she found the wand . . . "  
  
Albus shivered along with her, and not entirely from the cold wind that whistled around the wall of the keep. "Show me the wand," he said, his eyes fixed on the fast approaching army. Delaia reluctantly fished it out of her sleeve. Without a wand of his own, Albus wasn't entirely sure this was going to work, but it was worth a try. Concentrating on the warm black stone in front of him, he envisioned a different shape, smaller, golden, round . . . and slowly, the wand began to melt, its contours shifted, and then realigned into a bright gold bracelet with a phoenix-head clasp. He was rather proud of that last touch. "Put it on," he told the stunned girl in front of him, and when she just stood there, gaping at him, he plucked it out of her palm and slipped it over her wrist. It was a tight fit, but he didn't have time to adjust it at the moment.  
  
"You . . . you didn't use a wand," she said, dumbfounded.  
  
Albus was saved from replying by the approach of a golden haired archer, who fixed an arrow on them and instructed them politely, in passable English, not to move. Albus sank back against the stone of the castle walls with a sense of inevitability stealing over him. He had the feeling that a family reunion of sorts was in the offing.  
  
* * *  
  
Apollo regarded the strange scene before her with sincere irritation. The day had started out so well, she lamented to herself, and now these pesky elves had to show up and ruin everything. She and Sev would have won the trial otherwise, she was sure of it--perhaps even the tournament itself, for if no one else managed to get a token, wouldn't they have to declare anyone who did the winner? She was sure she could have managed to acquire at least one measly little token, especially with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang otherwise occupied, but now look at the situation--totally ruined! Severus was still arguing with that gangly brother of Albus's, as if that was going to do any good. Surly he could see that the man had positively no sense of humour? He just kept repeating the same refrain, over and over again, as if he didn't even hear Severus' arguments. Diplomacy was obviously hopeless.  
  
Looking about her, Apollo wondered if there was any point in trying anything. They stood in a circle of elves several deep, just outside the forest's edge. Severus was facing Aberforth and an elf who looked to Apollo just like all the others--young, fair, a bit whimsical of expression, and unutterably dull--but who seemed to have some sort of rank among them. His clothes were a bit more elaborate, she supposed, with tiny embroidered leaves snaking up the borders of his deep green velvet cloak, and an intricate silver brooch clasping it shut in front. She supposed he might be more senior than the others, although with their juvenile faces it was impossible to tell, but it was hard to take anyone seriously who was actually wearing tights. She sighed and fidgeted.  
  
The elves nearest her had swords and long knives, as well as bows slung over their backs. Several had their knives unsheathed, but none seemed to regard her as a threat, and most were not even glancing her way. To those who did, Apollo gave a limpid glance and batted her eyelashes, trying to project a helpless image. This seemed to unnerve them for some reason, and they quickly returned their attention to their leader, although he seemed content to allow Aberforth to carry the conversation. Apollo decided that there was a good chance that she could cause a serious disturbance by breaking a few of the potion vials she had secreted in her robes before the contest, the problem was that she had nothing with which to follow up the disturbance. Aberforth still had her wand--or at least, she assumed so, as she hadn't seen him give it to anyone else--and without it her options for attack, especially against such numbers, were limited. Of course, she supposed it would always be possible to jump Aberforth in the confusion and get their wands back, but even if that worked, she didn't particularly like the odds.  
  
Returning her attention reluctantly to the argument still dragging on, she vaguely hoped Severus was making some headway, but it didn't appear so. He had denied everything, of course, in proper Slytherin fashion, and was so convincing when he swore he had no idea where to find this wand they were so concerned about, that Apollo almost believed him. She beamed at him--he was such a good liar--but then, Severus did everything well, at least everything she'd had a chance to find out about, a thought which led her to more amusing thoughts until she was brought back to the present by the sounds of loud complaints uttered in the voice of her niece. Really, Delaia was a delightful girl, but she had to remember to tell her that a lady doesn't screech.  
  
At least the appearance of Delaia--and good, thought Apollo, she'd finally found Albus--tilted the odds a little more in their favour. Apollo fingered a few vials of really nasty brews while smiling sweetly at the elf next to her; it never hurt to be prepared.  
  
* * *  
  
Delaia was marched alongside Albus to a position in front of Aberforth and the stunning creature beside him. As scared and angry as she was, she found herself responding as always to beauty, and stared in amazement at the elf in front of her as her protests died on her lips. His wide set, large grey eyes regarded her benevolently, and did not seem to mind or indeed to be startled by her gaze. She supposed he must elicit that reaction from humans whenever he came into contact with them, and over thousands of years it had probably become expected. She was so busy noticing the silvery sheen to his long, straight hair and the perfection of his ivory complexion, that she barely remembered where they were until Albus trod rather heavily on one of her feet.  
  
She glanced at him, only to see that he was not regarding her with a happy expression; indeed, he looked quite irritated. She decided to pay a bit more attention to what was going on.  
  
"The wand is dangerous, Albus, surely you can see that?" Aberforth's whiney voice grated on her ears and she glared at him, a gawkish, unlovely figure in comparison to the silvery perfection beside him. You would think that after years of training, some elvish grace would have rubbed off, but apparently not.  
  
"All magical objects CAN be dangerous, Aberforth, whether they are so or not depends entirely on how they are used."  
  
"And you believe that you are better able to decide such a thing than the elders, heirs to the makers of the wand itself? You think rather too highly of yourself, little brother."  
  
Delaia bristled at the sneer in Aberforth's tone, but before she could jump to Albus' defense, a strange yet beautiful voice filled her head. She knew the words it spoke were not French or English, but she understood their meaning all the same.  
  
**The object you carry must return home. It will be cared for and guarded, so that none may misuse its power.**  
  
Delaia was mesmerized, a feeling of warmth and happiness, even of joy spreading through her as a pair of beautiful grey eyes suddenly seemed to dominate her whole field of vision.  
  
**I am Ev'allisor, guardian of the ancient wisdom, keeper of the mysteries of my people. I will carry this burden for you.**  
  
The golden words made perfect sense to Delaia--of course the lovely creature before her should have the wand. Naturally, someone of her few years could not hope to understand its secrets. If she kept it, only more problems would ensue. Why had she not seen it before? Here was the answer to all of their difficulties . . . she just needed to get the bracelet off, and give it to him, and all would be well. The problem, as she soon found, was two-fold: the damned bracelet refused to budge, and Albus, seeing what she was trying to do, dodged between the two elves standing guard over him and grabbed for her arm. He said something, but Delaia couldn't hear him over the singing that filled her mind.  
  
A heavy crash nearby finally broke Delaia's reverie. She looked up, only to see four huge giants come crashing through the forest, accompanied by Augusta on a broomstick, egging them on. "Get me the boy!," she screeched at them, while beginning to throw curses at the ring of elves, who scrambled for their weapons in some degree of fluster. "The talisman is mine--you shall not have it!"  
  
Delaia didn't know if Augusta had put a sound muffling charm on her companions, or if everyone had been so drawn into the discussion that they had not noticed their approach, but the elves seemed as surprised as she. All, that is, except Ev'allisor, whose serene expression never altered. He ignored the screaming witch and roaring giants, the red streaks of curses and the answering volleys of arrows, and moved gracefully towards Delaia. She looked at him with awe and fear mingling in equal parts in her mind. This one, she decided, was simply too much for her. Grabbing Albus by one hand and Valentin by the other, she started to turn and run, which seemed about the only viable option, when a cloud of horrible smelling smoke suddenly reared up all around them.  
  
"Delaia!" She immediately identified the voice as Apollo's, but couldn't tell from what direction it came, as the smoke was making her eyes water and causing a good deal of disorientation. It must be one of Apollo's battle potions, but why had she thrown it at THEM?  
  
"Delaia! Don't shift! I can't find Severus!"  
  
Delaia stumbled in the direction of her aunt's voice, but found instead that she was nose to kneecap with one of the giants, whose cauldron sized hands were making huge swishes through the smoke filled air, searching, she supposed, for Valentin. One of them caught her off guard and she received a glancing blow. She managed to retain hold of Valentin, but not Albus, who disappeared into the swirling mists that had now almost completely covered the scene. "Albus!" She reached out and felt her hand enveloped in a warm grip. It took her a moment to comprehend that it wasn't Albus who drew her close.  
  
** Come with me, Delaia, I will protect you**  
  
* * *  
  
Severus dodged another blow by one of the thrice plagued giants and grabbed Aberforth Dumbledore by his scrawny neck. They went down in a tangle of limbs and were nearly stepped on by a giant, but years of dirty fighting won out over elf-training, and Severus emerged on top. Patting the other man down efficiently, he found his and Apollo's wands in an inside pocket of the strange tunic he wore. Stupifying his opponent with a sincere measure of satisfaction, Severus jumped up and looked around for a certain annoying blond, who he was certain was responsible for the venomous fumes that swirled around, threatening him with unconsciousness. He quickly cast a mental clarity charm, which had less effect than he'd have liked, but it did keep him standing. That fact proved less than fortunate a minute later as Augusta came swooshing by on her broom; none of her hastily thrown spells hit him, but she collided with his shoulder, causing them both to topple to the ground.  
  
His reflexes were just a bit faster than hers, and he rolled out of the way of the Crucio curse she spat at him. He jumped to his feet and spun around to return the favour, when his prey was suddenly enveloped by a swirl of furiously beating wings and outstretched talons. Severus was surprised to identify one of the misbegotten creatures from the experiment room, which in a moment was joined by a whole host of others, who descended on Augusta in a hissing, biting and cawing cloud. Severus regarded the sight before him for a moment, then turned and walked away, pulling a vial out of his pocket as he did so.  
  
* * *  
  
Apollo was frantic. She had thought to help their side out a bit by creating a little disturbance, as Delaia was certainly acting very strangely around that elf lord, but she had not expected this! She should have moved closer to Severus before throwing the potion, she rebuked herself; but who would have thought that the irritating man would just wander off like that? She fought her way through nauseating fumes, desperately wishing the potion wasn't quite so effective, and called his name at regular intervals. She had to find him, and also Apollo, before Delaia did something stupid and time-shifted with Albus. She had never had a chance to talk to her niece about her suspicions of what might happen if that took place, and if pressed too hard, Delaia might well decide that Severus would manage if left behind in her tender care, and shift herself and Albus out of time and possibly out of existence as well.  
  
A comely elf archer appeared in front of her, but before he could so much as make a threat, a huge hand came out of the fog and picked him up. Apollo looked up to see a confused looking giant regarding his captive with doubt--my God, couldn't he tell the difference between Valentin, a grey haired human child, and the flaxen elf in his hands? They truly looked nothing alike. Maybe the smoke was affecting him as well, or possibly he was just stupid. Damn it all, she needed her wand! Fortunately, once the giant decided that this was not the right quarry, he tossed the elf into the limbs of a nearby tree, and Apollo saw him lightly make his way along a sturdy limb to the trunk, whereupon he started to slither towards the ground. Dodging the giant herself, she cast her eyes around again, looking for Albus, Severus, or anyone at all familiar. She finally found someone, but not anyone she wanted to see.  
  
"Oh, finally decided to show up, did you?"  
  
"Well," Sophicles blinked at her from behind his large spectacles. "I'd hate to miss out on all the fun."  
  
"Very funny. Have you seen Severus or Albus? I can't find either of them."  
  
"Watch out." Apollo instinctively ducked as Sophicles stupified several elves who had apparently been creeping up behind her. "I suppose you mean recently," he commented.  
  
Apollo glared at him. She REALLY wished she had a wand. "Yes," she hissed, "as in the last five minutes."  
  
"Sorry, no."  
  
Apollo was about to explain a few facts of life to that infuriating Hufflepuff when he was scooped up by the same very persistent giant, who held him by the back of his robes and brought him up to eye level. Circe, you'd think the beast was half blind or something! Sophicles hung there, several stories above the ground, while Apollo looked around frantically for something soft for him to land on if he was dropped. She somehow doubted he would demonstrate the same tree climbing ability as the elves, and although he could be an incredible annoyance, she had no desire to see him broken in several dozen pieces . . . at least not by anyone else. It was with great relief that a parting came in the potion clouds just then-- was it her imagination or were they starting to dissipate?--and she saw Albus standing a few yards off. He had obviously also seen what happened to Sophicles, and as she made her way towards him, he conjured a large, squashy mattress which he levitated to hover several yards off the ground.  
  
Catching sight of her, Albus tossed her her wand. "Well, don't just stand there, help me!" Really, Apollo thought in irritation as she conjured a second mattress, she might put up with that tone from Severus, but Albus had better learn some manners. Thereafter followed the strangest few minutes Apollo had lived through yet, as she and Albus directed their mattresses to circle around the giant, who was flaying at them as if he thought they might be dangerous weapons of some type. As the hand holding him swept upwards, Sophicles managed to grab hold of the creature's ear and pull himself up to the point where he could find a seat on its shoulders and grab hold of its neck. This seemed to infuriate the giant even more, and with a mighty roar, it took off across the field, trailed by two bobbing mattresses.  
  
"You follow them, I'll find Delaia," Albus told her peremptorily. Apollo narrowed her eyes, but smiled innocently at him. On no account was she going to let him anywhere near Delaia until this mess had been sorted out. Waiting until he'd turned, Apollo hit him with the strongest stunning spell she knew; glancing around, she nonchalantly wrapped him in an invisibility spell and levitated him off to the edge of the forest. Then she took off after the fast receding mattresses.  
  
* * *  
  
Delaia tried to drag her arm away from the grip of the gleaming creature next to her, but it was impossible. For someone who looked so slender, his clasp was like a vise, and no matter how she twisted, she could not break it. The seductive voice still echoed in her mind, but she forced herself to try to concentrate on something else. She needed to find Albus, Severus or Apollo. They HAD to get out of here.  
  
A second later and a beast that looked like a cross between a hippogriff and a dragon--which made, she thought dizzily, one hell of a combination--came winging its way by, and Valentin called something out to it. Delaia didn't need to understand the language to comprehend the implication, for the creature made a sharp turn in the air, almost knocking her over with gusts of air from its great leathery wings, and flew screeching at the elf lord at her side. Delaia ducked and found that her hand had been released. She didn't hesitate, but grabbed Valentin and ran flat out, until she tripped over Albus a second later. He was kneeling in the grass, attempting to revive his brother, who it appeared someone had stupified. It must have been some spell, for even as he came around, Aberforth did not look very alert, a fact that Delaia found rather comforting.  
  
"Uh, oh." As Delaia tried to help Albus hoist his brother to his feet, she heard Valentin's muttered comment and looked behind her. Amazingly enough, the elf she had thought would be busy for some time with the little diversion Valentin had arranged, was coming towards them, his calm expression still in place, but looking a bit more grim than previously. Valentin launched himself at him, screaming back over his shoulder for  
  
Delaia to run and hide. Pulling Albus away from his half-conscious brother, Delaia dragged him backwards, away from the advancing elf. She saw their pursuer lift an elegant white hand, but nothing happened. There was no voice in her mind, and no curses were thrown. Suddenly, however, Albus stood stock still beside her.  
  
"Albus, hurry!" She pulled on his arm, but it did little good. For an instant, she thought he'd been frozen in place by some type of elf trickery, but then she looked in the direction of the castle, and saw his point. There was no reason to run that way, for a whole host of elves were advancing on them from their previous position by the fortress's walls.  
  
Delaia felt the warmth of the bracelet on her wrist, and the heavy weight of the vial in her pocket. She couldn't shift with Albus; if she did, who would stand against Grindlewald, and later Voldemort? It would ruin everything . . . it was then that she had a truly beautiful revelation. Severus! Why, of course, he would still be here, wouldn't he? Together, he and Apollo would be more than a match for anything that happened, and he certainly knew as much about future events as she did. She saw the knowledge of what she intended to do spread across the elf lord's face almost the second it occurred to her. "No!", he cried; it was the first spoken word she'd heard him utter, but he was still too far away to stop her and she knew it. Smiling in triumph, she brought out the vial from inside her robes and smashed it against her arm.  
  
To her great surprise, nothing happened.  
  
Delaia almost immediately understood that Apollo, damn her, had used an unbreakable vial. As she struggled to get the stopper from it, the elf lord put on a spurt of speed and jumped forward, grabbing for her wrist. Delaia finally managed to unstopper the test tube, but at the same moment he slid the bracelet over her hand. She splashed the contents of the vial around, desperately hoping some of the elixir would land on the gold band. She wasn't sure if it had, or if the potion itself was causing the sensations, but she immediately felt the earth spin sickeningly beneath her, and her head felt like it was about to explode with a sudden rush of sights and sounds, none of which made sense. Falling to her knees, Delaia kept reaching out, trying blindly to make contact with the transfigured wand, but nothing came to hand before she disappeared into darkness.  
  
End of Book II  
  
* * *  
  
To Zardi: I really am sorry to leave you hanging about Delaia and Albus, but don't give up hope. Remember, we have the whole third book left to go!  
  
To all: My apologies for the slowness of this update. I've decided that starting book two in the middle of a semester was probably not my brightest idea. A mountain of school work is bogging me down at the moment, so, as this finishes the second book anyway, I've decided to take a break before writing the third. I've already plotted it out, and will be posting it soon, but probably not for a month or so until classes end. See you then! 


End file.
